Harleen No More
by SoBeit95
Summary: A retelling of the famous tale of how Harleen Quinzel finally caved to the Joker and became the girl of the Clown Prince of Crime. I don't own anything, so please don't sue!
1. Chapter 1

**Day 1** [Spring. Harley's P.O.V.]

The phone mocks me as it clicks back into place. A smile is on my face but the feeling of joy has fled me entirely as I realize what new world I'm stepping into. An asylum is the last place a girl like me would be placing foot in. But hey, it pays the bills I suppose. _Come on, Quinn. Get it together. What's wrong with you? You wanted this for yourself. You love the crazies, after all. How intriguing it is to work with such personalities. Right? _Right. I quickly dismiss the nip of anxiety and make a cup of coffee. Extra extra sugar. It's too sweet for most others, but I like it that way.

My heart jumps as I step into my office. The sanctuary that holds the foundation of my new title. This room keeps files of my own, containing as much information I could spill from the public. A giddy feeling fills into the walls of my stomach and tickles my nerves as I sweep through my cabinet one last time. My fingers brush through each file marked with a potential psycho I might soon be assigned. I hope. _The Riddler, Two-Face, Mad Hatter, Freeze, Croc, Clayface. . . _I stop when my pinky taps his smile. _The Joker._

Is it a possibility they would allow me to take on such a threatening criminal? I'm sure he's had plenty of tries, no doubt. But would they sacrifice someone so new? I could only hope so. If not, it's no matter. I'm bound to get one of these fellows. Curing any crazy is a success in itself. And maybe then, it would be a go for the Joker.

I close up my cabinet and forbid myself from entering my office until tomorrow. _Get your mind off of it, Harleen. Go for a drink or something. It's probably the last break you'll get for a while._

I peek through my cupboards for any alcohol and only find Crystal Lite mix. A puff of breath descends from my lips, not wanting to leave my home, it's almost 6PM. If I go to the bar now, I'm bound to be there for a while.

Oh well.

My keys jingle and clash together as I start up my car. It's waxy, purple exterior mirrors the orange skies as the sun fades with each mile.

A few young ladies in short shorts and low-cut tops are migrating near the very few men left in the bar. Trying as hard as they can, it isn't enough to maintain their attention when I walk in. I receive a few whistles and stares as I make my way to the booth and order a beer. "You got it, sugar." I ignore his comment, not shaken by it.

Instead, I turn my head to the TV and strain to hear its contents as the intelligent remarks keep coming.

"_. . . In other news, another mob broken up by none other than the Batman. The convicts are currently in custody. More information on this at 8_-"

"I hate this channel," the man sitting a few stools away comments. The bartender takes note of this and flips between stations until a football game appears on the screen. Bored, I turn away and finish off my third bottle.

_I wonder how many people working at Arkham have met Batman. . ._ Not even the cold reassurance of alcohol is enough to direct my attention towards other matters. My mind has been claimed by my new title as the new intern at the crazy castle. Might as well stop now before an OUI is in my future.

"Think this will cover it," I say, pinning the bills underneath the bottle, slipping off the stool and making my way to the doors. I hear a few "awwwww"s from behind me and see the ladies frowning in jealousy.

I am a bit undecided on the subject of Batman. He is just another vigilante, nothing more. I am pretty neutral towards him. I look up and see the bat-signal in the sky, leading my way home. I believe I catch a bit of cape in the darkest of shadows, but dismiss it. Even having these feelings towards the bat, it would still be interesting to meet such a character.

Coming home, I think to myself it will be nice to belong to something as bold as Arkham Asylum. Life at home was pretty dull. This was about as exciting as it got. Like a tumbleweed whisping by. Spending my days previewing the minds of the criminally insane would be much more fun than sitting at home watching reruns of Friends.

I slump onto my couch, scoops of ice cream slip down my throat as I stare blankly at my television. Documentary's of Superman are currently on TV and I wonder how much more bland it must be in Metropolis. The criminals in Gotham seem much more interesting to me. I can't imagine trying to work with Lex Luthor. Ask him why he insists on stocking up on a rock to kill a caped boyscout. Nah. Not my kind of case.

The rivalry between Lex and Superman reminds me of the never ending dance between the Joker and Batman. The ultimate loathing between the two of them fascinates me to no end. Joker and his dastardly gags constantly tormenting and forever taunting the man in the bat costume. Gotham wouldn't be Gotham without their cat-and-mouse game. The citizens must not be phased by it by now. I know I'm quite used to it.

I lick up the last that my bowl has to offer me and dump it in the sink. Dish-washing was always a past time I suppose. Sleep was out of the question. I was too anxious. Even though sleep was the key to make the morning come faster. It was like Christmas Eve. Not many sleep soundly knowing what the morning will bring them.

I take a couple Benadryl, hoping it will force me into a drowsy state and I will have no choice but to give in to the slumber. In the meantime, I hesitate in front of my office door._ It's not a big deal. It's not like the actual patients are in there. You're being ridiculous. Just let it go and finish watching the documentary on TV._

The documentary was beyond boring. There was no way I was going to finish that. My hand brushes the knob of the office tauntingly._ It's not like I'm harming my well-being. I'm not obsessed, just excited. What's the big deal?_

The door reveals the white walls and burghandy desk in the middle of the room. Shelves that border the walls, containing many books on psychiatry, although I never even thumbed through them. I just enjoyed buying them, in hopes that they would help me. Also part of the excitement I had, I suppose.

I creep over to the drawer in my desk holding my files, my heart beating wildly. Inside was each patient I would meet tomorrow behind glass. Ya know, the kind that doesn't break by human force. To be safe.

It feels like they are almost calling out to me from the small crack in the drawer's opening. Anxiously, I yank open the drawer and peer inside once again. I fumble through the files at least six times until I memorize where each patient is in my cabinet. The Benadryl has yet to take affect on me, I realize, might as well read a little. Although, knowing what to expect, I skim through the list once more before landing again on the Joker. I whisper his name to myself as I take his file out from the rest. I feel a tingle thrill from my toes to my fingertips as I open it up and see numerous pictures, articles, and small newspaper clippings on the clown. He was so interesting. He pulled off the purple suit better than I could imagine anyone else, that's for sure. He was so menacing and simply. . intimidating. When I gaze upon each picture I feel a shudder course through each section of my spine but can't help but smile out of excitement. Would he threaten me like he had the others? More than likely. Would I make progress? I have hope, but that isn't my main focus at the moment. I just want to see him. I want to see all of them. Crane, Nigma, Isely, all of them. Who says I'll even have the Joker as a patient?

After finishing his file, I stack it away in the cabinet and snake my fingers onto Mad Hatter's file to read until I catch the time on my clock. 1AM. Man, I need some rest. Not until just realizing the time do I feel the Benadryl take its toll, tugging at my eyelids. Was I subconsciously fighting the sleep to finish the Joker's file?

The sheets cloak around my body perfectly. I'm so tired that I can barely feel my body. It's fading as my sight is. _Do they sleep well in Arkham? Do they try and make it comfortable as possible for the patients? Do they even think of it? . . ._

**Day 2** [Meet&Greet]

I'm up and at the asylum before my alarm clock would even be going off. Joan is surprised to see me here so early but quickly smiles and takes it as a compliment. "You sure seem to be jumping all over this, Harleen. You must be a hard worker."

In other circumstances I probably would have shrugged to this but I want to come across as professional as possible. So instead I give her a smile. "Of course." Joan smiles at me again at this statement.

"Good. Now, if you just come with me, you can tour the building. Since you're early and all. We can talk business later."

My face beams and I nod. "I would love that!"

Joan seems a bit confused at such enthusiasm, but nods and leads me down a hall. We take a right to the elevator and we begin our descend into the floor below. On the awkward ride she clears her throat and approaches the question with hesitation. "Harleen, what attracted you to this job?"

Without taking too much time, I try to think of an appropriate answer that would sound pleasing to her. "I would be lying if I said these patients didn't intrigue me. Nothing more than a fascinating topic really."

She nods once more. "I see. I hope you're not thinking of magically turning the lives of these patients around merely for the money, Ms. Quinzel."

"Of course not, Joan! I would never dream of it!" I am somewhat offended that she jumped so quickly to the conclusion that I'm some gold-digging bimbo. I can't deny the money didn't reel me in, but that wasn't my whole reason for applying myself to Arkham.

The elevator's chime relieves me as we step onto the floor. For some reason it's more comfortable talking to Joan outside of an elevator than in one. I'm pretty sure I'm not claustrophobic. Just the awkward close distance I suppose.

I take a few steps down the hall and I'm instantly feeling as though I'm exploring my cabinet. But much more in depth. As if this whole hall was my cabinet. I receive a few gaping stares. Some blank and passive, some seductive and intimidating. I hear a flick of some sort and I smile, realizing that just a few cells away must be Two-Face. I slightly quicken my pace, but stay close to Joan. She doesn't seem to notice.

Sure enough, Two-Face comes into view on my right. I don't stop my walk, but I do acknowledge him. His face doesn't change, he just stares ahead of him with an angry glint in his left eye. I hear a few mutters float from his lips but they are so subtle, I can't understand him.

Each patient has their own way of welcoming me to the asylum. A stare, a wave, a threat, even a lick of the glass. Although each leaves a strange detail behind for me to pick up, it doesn't surprise me in the least. These are some of the most notorious of the criminally insane. The last quality to expect would be average.

I'm just about getting past some of the famous of them all when my heart kicks into overdrive. The very last is saved for the very best. I had yet to lay eyes on the Joker. Although they are more than likely feeding me some interesting gestures, I can't help but leave the rest of the patients unnoticed as I quicken my pace. It pays off, as I hear a familiar tune reach my ears. That tune, with the crisp whistle between the fire red lips that can only belong to none other than the Joker himself. I reach his cell and feel my body tense as it comes to a direct hault.

The Clown Prince of Crime, the Joker, lays on his cot, legs crossed, both arms propped behind his head for support. His eyes flash open and I feel a surge of excitement and a slight hesitation of danger as he abruptly ends his song. A smile cracks his face as he gazes at me through the glassy film between us. "_Ahh_, the _new_ girl!" he exclaims. His arms swing from behind him and he sits up, resting his long chin on both supporting fists. "Harleen Quinzel, isn't it?"

I gasp at his recognition of my brand new presence and open my mouth to ask how he knows me- but suddenly I'm being escorted away by Joan. "The Joker is a big attraction here at Arkham for new interns, like yourself." Her hand tugs at my shoulder, guiding me forward. "But as I'm sure you know, he is highly dangerous and should be treated as such. Let us move on."

I glance back once more to catch him giggle, readjusting himself back onto his cot. Within a moment of reaching another elevator, I hear the Joker's whistling come swimming back into my ears.

I glance at my watch, it's not a big deal. I just want to get my mind set. Memorize all about him. To show them I know what he's capable of doing. Not that I'm a "Joker-pro". Just that I'm qualified for the job. No, maybe not soon, but soon enough. A few articles I don't even have to read. I quickly skim them and already know what each article reads word-for-word. I find myself staring upon his face curiously, as I remember his greeting and acknowledgement of my name. Surely, he must have heard Joan or the guards talking over my new position at Arkham. A man locked up in solitude with nothing to do but count charges wouldn't be able to get his hands on such information without the gift of gossip from the workers.

I raise a shot of the Joker and Batman in the middle of a quarrel up to my face. Batman looks as displeased as always. Joker, on the other hand, has a happy-go-lucky smile on his face, although Batman is swinging a right hook his way. Always trying to find the funny side. It is, in a way, slightly disturbing.

I set aside the folder and smile to myself, with each piece of information bubbling its way into my brain. I'm ready.

The wait sets an uncomfortable feeling of the unknown within the pits of my stomach. I only pleade with myself that I won't mess this up.

"Hello, Harleen? This is Ms. Quinzel, right?" Jeremiah Arkham answers. He is, as anyone may have guessed, the head of them all. The owner of this nut-case tower.

"Yes, may I speak with Joan Leland please?"

"Why of course, just a moment."

I tap my pen on the edge of my desk, impatiently. I hope she is still in. But. . . I couldn't resist. I need to ask. The pen is now nudging its way in between my teeth as I gnaw on the edges. I feel like a school girl again. The familiar plastic taste, leaving indentations in the material, almost like a calling card.

"Harley? What on earth are you doing calling this late? Shouldn't you be getting rest for tomorrow? We're setting you up with your first patient!"

Cluelessly, I acknowledge the time. "Oh, gosh! I sincerely apologize, Joan. I had no idea. I tend to stay up late." No, I really didn't. Just these past few days. But it wasn't important enough to include. "I was actually calling about a certain patient."

There was a slight pause on the other end. "You aren't calling to tell me you don't want the job, I hope?"

"No, no! Nothing like that-"

"Were you threatened?" She sounds genuinely concerned. Of course I was, I'm sure that's a fairly frequent occurrence at Arkham, but I refused to reveal that to her.

"No, I'm calling to make a request."

Another pause filters through. "Go ahead."

I begin to press forward, but my words get caught in my throat. This was ridiculous. There was no way I would be taken seriously! Especially communicating through the phone. Joan awkwardly clears her throat impatiently. _Oh yeah, it's late_, I remember. _Better hurry, Harl. Just spit it out_. "-I . . Would like to take on the Joker-"

"Absolutely not."

I'm astonished by her quick objection. "I understand I'm new, Ms. Leland, but if you could only see my potential-"

"I will not allow it."

I'm a little frustrated by her harsh refusal. "How exactly do you determine the rank of psychosis? They're _all_ crazy and capable of harming me in any way they please! Whether it's Joker, Jervis, or heck, even the unknowns. Please, Joan."

Joan takes a moment to soak this in. It was clearly unexpected, and not something she was ready to respond to. ". . . I'll see what you have to say about this tomorrow. We'll talk then. Goodnight, Ms. Quinzel."

Although her voice had a flush of hostility in it, I couldn't help but show off my Crest white smile. I had a chance.

**Day 3** [Convince the Doc, Doc]

So, I had to admit, I was at a slight disadvantage, considering Joan was a woman. I've never had a problem convincing the males. But a pout and big eyes wouldn't sell it this time.

"Good afternoon, Joan," I greet her with my best smile.

"Well, hello to you too, Ms. Quinzel." I can sense her remembrance of our previous conversation. She almost winces.

"So," I begin. I try to swallow my slight fear of rejection, but try my best to mask it's proof of ever being there. "The Joker."

Joan nearly immediately drops the fake smile and stares ahead of her, barely acknowledging my presence. It takes her a moment to find the words she was looking for. ". . . Why the Joker? Yes, I know he's the most notorious of them all. But why him? Why not start off slowly?"

"I don't procrastinate, Joan." She actually allows a slight chuckle slip out and a faint smile appears on her lips.

"I see." She is now looking at me once again. "What on earth makes you think you're ready for a case like _his_? In every professional way-he is simply _helpless_. He is just. . . messed up."

I frown. _What negativity_. "I don't believe anyone is helpless. Why would you waste space holding him up in here if you aren't going to try to cure him?"

Joan clears her throat, agitated. "The answer is no, Harley."

"Did you not see my work with my patient from earlier?"

A patient who was claimed "mute" and utterly unresponsive to any treatment had opened up slightly and even smiled at me today. If that isn't impressive progress, considering he's my first Arkham patient, I don't know what is. "Yes, but in defense, he had an attraction to you, Quinn. We all saw it. He's not used to having such young and beautiful women visit him."

I raise an eyebrow and smile. "What makes you think the Joker wouldn't have the same reaction?"

Joan sighed. "It's not impossible, but I don't believe he would react in such a positive way, if that be the case." Her glance swayed past mine for just a split second before dropping her tone. ". . I'll run it by Dr. Arkham."

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Joan! I definitely won't let you down. I just want one session. Just one at least."

"I didn't say you were working with the Joker anytime soon, if at all, I'm just running it by him. For future reference." I nodded and masked my disappointment with a slight smile. With a dismiss from her hand, she walked down the hall to report my success with my first patient and chat with Dr. Arkham.

_Please, Dr. Arkham. . . You're my only hope_.

I slid my card to leave and headed to the elevator. . . . . _Would it be too risky to just visit the patients one last time? It's not like I'll be down here much for a while. Unless a miracle happens and Arkham pulls through for me. _A mischievous grin cracked my face and I couldn't help the giddy feeling that sprung inside me like a ten-year-old at Disney Land.

The chimes were hard to hear over my loud, rhythmic pulse, as the doors let go of each other.

I receive a few howls as I took my first few steps into the hallway. The faint glow of light that is strung down the center of the hall is all the illumination I have to point out faces. Much more eerie than the day, as expected. But maybe Joan was right. . . I wasn't ready for this. I needed to start off slowly. I needed to head back. _Now_. I shouldn't be here without being accompanied by Joan, or at least a guard. But some childish, unprofessional, curiosity was egging me on, robotically controlling every step until I came closer to the end of the hall. It didn't stop.

And neither did the grunts. I received a few shrieks, which nearly jumped me out of my very skin. A few were asleep, which surprised me. I could never sleep in such conditions. One patient remained in the very corner singing softly to himself, as if the low reassurance of his own voice would block out the rest.

I was losing light, I needed to turn back. The dim illumination left me just enough to reach the end of the hall. _Okay, Harleen, you seriously have to turn back now. You're only disrupting them and causing a scene. You're not allowed to be here. If they found out you were here, absolutely _no _Joker_.

I slid on my heel, not paying attention to where I was and began walking back-

"-Need directions back, toots? Seems we have a lost one here."

"Joker!" I peep, turning around. My voice having a little more pep than I had planned.

Apparently our first encounter I was rushing to quickly to take the time to _really_ sponge up his details. Because my god, my cabinet doesn't do a justice. The newspapers, printed pictures, descriptions, etc. had not captured enough of his every detail, his character was undeniably unique. His trademark smile that seemed to be stuck in the back of everyone's brain. Everyone had to memorize this threat. Because its the biggest one Gotham has to offer.

His lips spread in an almost childish grin. "My, my, doctor. Wandering about after hours? Don't you follow the rules?" A chuckle escapes his mouth and I smile.

"Just checking up on you."

"Why- little 'ol me? I'm flattered!" His voice has raised an octave and he is now standing dangerously close, keeping in mind the glass in between us. His nose is just about touching the surface.

"I wanted to chat with you about our last encounter, if you don't mind?"

"Do I _mind_? Do you think I have better luxuries, Doc?" His eyes sweep the interior of his cell. "I'm all yours."

His comfortability around me slips a smile across my cheeks, without thinking. His head tilts to the side curiously, a smile spreading on his own. "How did you already know my name?"

He cackles. "Oh _please_, Doc! A fresh new number such as yourself? Word spreads fast!" I blush a little at his compliment and immediately think back to my conversation with Joan Leland. _Who says the Joker can't have the same attraction? Ha_. The Joker smiles at my obvious new pigment.

"Well, it was definitely a surprise to me."

"Ya know, clown myself, I have a slight attatchement to that name, there." I point to myself, with surprise on my face. Which must look quite idiotic considering I know what he's talking about. But still, I can't help but revert back to middle-school responses. He nods. His red-lipped smile widens. "Harleen Quinzel. . . . How about- Harley Quinn! It only suits you better, don't you think? Now there's a little Joker in you too." He winks. "That is, if you don't mind," he adds, tilting his head once more, awaiting my response.

"Of course I don't mind," I say. "But when would you get the chance to ever address me again?"

"I knew you'd stop by eventually, cupcake," he said as if it were obvious. He slipped a flower in between his fingers just then, holding it out towards the glass. "That's why I swiped this."

I raised a hand to my mouth in astonishment at his gesture and the beauty of the rose. "H-How did you get ahold of that?"

"Not important, sweets. But. ." He tossed the flower behind him tiredly. "I suppose you aren't going to get it. That is, unless you come see me again. But I know how busy you must be, Doc. With this new job and all-"

"I have time!" I sputtered, again without thinking. He smiled wickedly. I noticed a few patients around me, muttering things my way. I almost forgot where I was. He nodded, as if he knew I had to leave.

"See you soon, sweets." He settled backwards onto his cot and waggled a few fingers my way as a goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 4**

Bags hammock my eyes from staying up until 3AM, searching for rare pictures and facts of my new interest. I know it's a sad gesture at trying to impress my bosses, for they don't care how much I know. And instead of showing up to Arkham ready to blow them away, I find myself focusing more on pinching myself and downing as many cups of coffee as I can manage.

"You awake, Harley?" Joan asks.

My eyes flutter open immediately, as I realize I was nearly half asleep, whilst eating lunch. My sandwich slouches miserably in my hand, my grip just barely there. I slightly groan in response to let her know I heard her.

"Maybe you should go home. . . I can postpone your session with Mark. I'm sure he'll be a bit disappointed, but you-"

"No! Please, I'm sorry. I had a late night. Please don't take me off the schedule, I want to work."

Joan raises an eyebrow at me. "Mind if I ask what was so important that you came to work nearly dead, Ms. Quinzel?"

I swallow hard. "I was working."

"Second job?" Joan guesses. I shake my head. "Off duty?"

"Sorta." Joan raises her eyebrow again. "I was. . Uh, researching a patient. ."

Joan tries not to roll her eyes, as she knows its unprofessional. Instead she slightly laughs. "The Joker?"

I blush slightly. "Uh-huh."

She smiles. "I meant to tell you- I talked to Dr. Arkham." I try not to shake her violently and beg her to tell me the news. I hold my cool and keep my feet planted and mouth zipped, I can't help but smile though. "He definitely did not like what he heard, but I still relayed your message. He wanted me to let you calmly know-" I held my breath. My chest began to tighten with anxiety until I felt ready to burst. "-that it's a no-go. You're certainly not ready for the Joker." I sighed. Of course it was too good to be true. Joker was too glamorous, too high up on the scale for such a new-comer.

"-_But then_, we saw you on the camera. The one in the hallway on the bottom floor." I bite my lip, nervous of future scolding and maybe even probation. What I did was against the rules, I merely did it because my body forced me to. I couldn't resist. "And although risky, we saw no fear in you talking to the Joker. . . And I must admit I was wrong. It seems as though Joker did have some sort of attraction to you and it is rare that we actually find someone that he _likes_ talking to. In fact, this may be our first! But, you are granted your one session with the Joker. We'll see where it goes." Any sign of drowsiness has completely vanished my beaming face as I thank Joan. She nods. "Don't make us regret this, Quinn."

"When do I start?"

"Your session should be in about four or five days. If he misbehaves or you aren't ready, there won't be another session. Got it?"

"Got it!" I exclaim. I happily dash to my office, congratulating myself and cherishing the moment with an enthusiastic victory dance. "You did it, Harl! Score one for the new intern!"

When my body slows down I slump back into my chair and begin to think. _When exactly was the last time I was so pleased with myself? Or really even happy in general? Most likely during the last of my gymnast days. ._ _Oh, how I miss those_. To bring back memories, I sometimes practice in my living room on rainy afternoons. It's probably the only thing that still reminds me that fun is to be had, even when you're an adult. It's so easy to forget. . . I wonder what the Joker lives by. If the crimes he commits is how he expresses fun.

The Joker! I have to let him know about our session before I see Mark! I check my watch, two minutes. That's enough time.

I scramble from my chair and out the door, rushing towards the elevator to visit the bottom floor. I am quickly flagged down by Joan before I have the chance to escape into the elevator. "Harleen!" Her hand grasps my shoulder and I spin around to face her. "There's been a mistake! I asked for your session with Mark to be at eleven, but the Joker was accidentally written in Mark's place. He's waiting for you right now!" My mouth gapes open. "Don't worry, Ms. Quinzel. I'm sure you're as ready as you would have been five days from now. Besides, you probably know more about him than you need to. I'm going to go figure out who messed up the schedule, you better get moving! Don't want to keep the Joker waiting!" She grimaces. "Really."

I nod and rush to my session room. I am standing in front of the room and see both guards nod to me. "You must be, Ms. Quinn," Dan says.

"It's Dr. Quinzel," I snap. His eyes widen and he holds up his hands defensively.

"Have a good session," the other one laughs. They both take a quick glance as I walk in. Pigs. _Prepare yourself, Harley! Get a hold of yourself! Stop sweating, don't shake! _

Taking my first step into the session room, my mind immediately takes on tunnel vision, only seeking for the Joker's face and not my surroundings. My first sightings are his neutrally lined face as he waits impatiently, his eyes, perfectly aligned and simply unimpressed, no glimmer what so ever. "WHERE'S MY-" he catches me in the doorway and stops mid-sentence "-Doc!" His eyes even smile at me. "It's _you_! How?"

I smile. "I got my wish."

He lifts an eyebrow and smiles wider. "So did I."

My face shows my excitement, though I try to hide it. "You're joking."

This time both brows raise. "How could I?" He raises his arms as far as he can manage, which remained linked together and cuffed to the chair. "No card up the sleeve, this time, I'm afraid."

Of course he's joking, it's him, right? "Mhm."

"Honest! Want to check them? I promise I don't bite." He smiles innocently. "No? Alright then. But the joke's on you!" He grins his regular Joker grin. "So, please. Tell me how you got your way into this one, Harley? I'm no mere toy the kiddies share so easy." He looks me over before I can answer. "Then again, you're quite the looker."

I blush, but clear my throat to pretend discomfort. "Please, Mr. Joker, let's keep this professional."

"I'm merely stating a fact, Doc." He winks.

Ignoring his compliments, I search for my pencil and flip open my notepad. "Is there anything you'd like to share before I begin, Mr. Joker?"

His teeth shift side to side as he thinks. "Why aren't you calling me patient 4479?" He asks. I don't quite understand what he's talking about until I see the number in small print on the front of his white clothing. "Or are we just past that now?" He chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

"Do they really address you by your patient number?" I ask, a bit taken back. He nods. "Why? They just call you Joker to everyone else. ."

"Dunno, Doc." He shrugs.

"Would you like me to call you patient 4479-?"

"No! No, no, no. Certainly, not, Doc. Call me whatever you please, toots, anything but _that_."

I scribble down some notes. _'Doesn't like the addressing of patient number, prefers to be treated like a human being than a number_.' Next to it I write the word understandable. Who _would_ want to be called that? I take this as an opportunity to get some of his emotion on paper. "Does that make you angry? When they call you patient 4479?"

"Sometimes. Who wouldn't?" He leaned forward. "Would you be mad, Dr. Harls?" He smiles.

The nickname is certainly inappropriate, but I don't say anything. It only means he's comfortable around me, I wouldn't want to remove that. "I suppose I might be a bit agitated."

"You suppose so?" He laughs wildly in his chair. I think I see it move even though I've been told it is one with the floor. "That's cute. Completely frustrating, it irks me, but cute nonetheless."

I am utterly confused. "I'm sorry? I don't understand, Mr. Joker. . "

"The act. I don't appreciate it, Doc." He still wears his cheeky grin, although he is supposedly frustrated.

"What act?" I say, dropping the pencil onto the pad. I cross my arms.

"The professional mask. I can see you're out of your comfort zone, this isn't really you, is it Harley?" My face beats with a lava red, embarrassed. "Is that a no I see?"

I shrug. "How could you tell?"

"You can't hide from me, toots."

I scribble some more. _'Very good at reading people_.' "Well, it's my job to be professional, Mr. Joker."

His smile slightly pulls downward. "I would love it so much more if you were yourself, Doc. What are you really like?"

I shrug. To be honest, I'm not even sure what I'm really like. What _am_ I like? Oh gosh, he's turning it on me again! No, we're not doing this, this is about _him_. "How about we stick with _me_ asking _you_ the questions."

He sighs. "Fine, Doc. You win."

I smile. "Thank you." He shrugs.

"Sure thing, sweets. Take a stab at me." He smiles and settles a little in his chair. He seems relaxed, even with the restraints.

"What is your best childhood memory?"

He clucks his tongue. ". . My _best_?"

"Mhm. Do you remember your childhood, Mr. Joker?"

His chest shakes with laughter. "_Oh_, I remember it alright. What a lovely time."

I smile at his words. _I wish I had a lovely childhood. . ._ "Mind telling me about it?"

His eyes cloud over with rage and pain. "No."

"Why not? You said it was lovely." I am a bit confused at his sudden mood swing and try to dodge his threatening stare. It softens a bit as he laughs.

"Oh, Harley, I was joking," he remarks.

Guilt and embarrassment pinch my heart slightly. "I'm sorry. . Are you sure you don't want to get some of it off of your conscious?"

"Certain as a clown can be, my dear. I would only feel comfortable enough revealing such memories if you yourself gave me some of yours to-" The door clicks open and I realize the time flew by. He smiles. "Next time, then."

My heart sinks. _If there is a next time. . ._

**Day 5**

Working with the Joker was certainly a new experience. I suppose Joan may have been right about the whole "not being ready" thing, but in a total different way than she had proposed. I was more just surprised than anything. The Joker had this thing about him that just had me looking so vulnerable, and I'm not quite sure why. . . _I'm a professional, aren't I? Why else would I be getting paid for this job? I shouldn't be blushing at his comments! If anything, _he _should feel embarrassed!_

I shrug off this feeling and get up for work. My legs throb from laying in the same position all night. I was completely still. Twisting my neck from side to side, I hear a few jaw-clenching crunches and pops. "Ugh," I groan.

I reach for a think black skirt and a turquoise top to slide into. My heels give me at least a little boost. I'd need i to feel any sort of sense of comfort. The Joker nearly towers over me. Not that I'm even sure if I'm seeing him again. A sigh flees my lips and I mentally slap myself. _Come on, Harleen!_

I'm clicking and clacking my way to the kitchen to eat a quick breakfast when my telephone rings. "I don't have time for this!" I cry before answering much more calmy. "Hello?" A bit of Brooklyn sweeps its way into my voice. Oh no. Not _that_. _Stop, Harleen, you ditched this a long time ago. What's wrong with you. _I quickly dismiss it and act as though I sound just as professional as any other day.

"Harleen? Is that you?" It's Joan. Crap.

"Yes! Sorry, something was caught in my throat. Am I coming in today?" A ping of nervousy bites me and I chew my lip. Oh, please God, I hope so. I prepared for the worse.

"Absolutely! I was just calling to let you know, I'm very pleased with you. Come in as soon as possible. I have quite the news for you."

My eyes widen with surprise and I smile triumphantly. "I will!"

"Very good! I expect to see you soon, then!" With that she hung up. I hold onto the phone and a soft squeal brakes the silence of my apartment. I jump up with balled fists and shoot them into the air.

"Yes!" _I didn't screw up._

Breakfast can wait. I grab my folders and drive away to Arkham, passing a few red lights. Oops.

Joan is waiting by my office, speaking to a few guards. I catch the words "regular thing" before she brakes the conversation to turn to me. "Ahh, Ms. Quinzel! Just the woman I'm waiting to see!" She wears a happy grin that makes me spark with curiousity.

"Yes, Joan?"

"Why don't we step inside?" She gestures into my office. I agree and she follows, closing the door. Feeling a twinge of awkwardness, I decide to sit and offer her a chair. My office is too small to stand in conversation.

"Mind me asking what this is about?"

She smiles. "I'll get right to it. I am quite intrigued by your session with the Joker. You were great. And if you are comfortable with him as a patient, I would love to push you forward with this."

A giddy feeling courses throughout my body at once and I clutch my chair to hold in my excitement. "Yes! Definitely."

"Good. That is all, Ms. Quinzel. You're next appointment is scheduled tomorrow. Today I just advise you to work on your notes." Joan adjusts her blazer and stands up to leave.

"Wait! May I ask what caught your attention that pleased you about our session?"

Joan smiles. "Reading his file you will see the same things you wrote down. You may also notice, there isn't much of a few words written down until at least the first 6-10 sessions. You're ahead of the game, Harleen. Keep it up." With that she departures and I"m left to squeal and flick through papers of this new clown of mine.

Like a child, I feel the urge to flee downstairs and share this wonderful piiece of news with the Joker, as if we were the best of friends.

I give a minute or two to ensure Joan has made her way down the hall. Ducking my head out the door, I see I am left to my duties. I retreat back inside my office and stuff my folder inside the crease of my arm. If I'm stopped, I would at least want it to look like I was doing my job.

To be honest, I'm not too shaken with my second disobey. The first time was like training for the next.

Quickly, I scurry down the hall and sweep myself into the elevator. A thrill I can't place shoots through me as I press the button that holds his floor. The _ding!_ nearly doubles this feeling, as the doors slide open.

A smile toys with my lips as I walk further down the hallway. My palms are slightly moist.

"She wasn't scared off!" I hear a patient murmur to another as I continue on. A recieve a few more confused and gaping stares as they watch me proceed to the Joker's cell.

I arrive to see him laying on his cot, staring up at the ceiling in thought. Before even speaking a word, I see him smile. He still lay facing upward, not even giving me a glance. "Miss me, Doc?" He sits up, facing me and slightly chuckles.

"I came to tell you that you and me did good, Joker. They are continuing my sessions with you, starting tomorrow." I can't help but smile. A ping of self-anger enters my emotions for seeming so excited in front of a patient. He takes note of it.

"_Really_ now?" He lifts an eyebrow and smacks both hands together. "Splendid!"

A bit of heat rises to all areas of my face, reaction to his delight, and I could scream at myself right now for it. _Stop, Harleen! He's only a patient! It's not a _date. I clear my throat in embarrassment. Of course he sees me blush. How couldn't he. I'm probably red as a tomatoe right now. Heat tickles my cheeks a bit more for even thinking I _would_ think of flirting with a patient. He gives back a charming smile in return. He saw it. He saw me blush just then. _Ugh, Harl_.

I need to get myself out of this giant pit I dug myself into. I need to leave. "I best be going now, Mr. Joker."

He tries to frown. "_Awww_, so soon? Was it something I said?" He jokes.

"See you tomorrow," I say and wave, walking away. He stays in front of the glass, wearing his signature smile.

"Tomorrow, then! It's a date!" He calls after me. His cute remark leaves a soft giggle lingering from me. I know he hears it. Because until I'm isnide the elevator, his laughter chases me away.

**Day 6**

"_The doctor will see you now_," the Joker comments to himself as I walk in. I must say, I prepared myself much better for his inappropriate gestures this time around. I don't even smile at his words. He picks up on my lack of emotion. Bad day already, Doc?"

"Not at all."

He frowns at that. He knows my guard is up and is much more sturdier. "Hmph."

I shrug off his disappoinment and try to focus on the root of the entire appointment. "So, is there anything on your mind?" He lifts an eyebrow and stares at me blankly. Completely speechless. Trying to get back at me for not playing along, I'm guessing. "Nothing? Okay, then. Is there something you'd like to focus this session on, Mr. Joker?" Nothing. He's refusing to cooperate unless I play along. It isn't funny if I don't. And to him, being funny is just the beginning. If he's not causing laughter, he isn't causing much of anything. So, I decide to put on my cleets. I'm in Joker's game now. "Sorry, I wasn't really myself when I walked in, was I? I know you know that. But of course you would know that, you have me all figured out."

He smiles. "I already told you, Doc. No need to fake it out in here. No one has to know you're showing your true colors," he says. "It can be our little secret."

"But. . . what about them," I say, nodding toward the door."

"Oh, please. You think they're really watching? Those guards out there?" He laughs. "If I were to jump right from my bindings, they wouldn't have known until our session had ended." I glance back at the door and think this over. I'm not sure if I'm fine with this, or completely terrified. My palms begin to sweat all over again. I'm not sure what's going on with my head, but I tell myself I'm fine. This is fine. The Joker would never. He wouldn't dare harm me. He would be brought to the isolation room, and I'm sure he doesn't want that. . . The Joker lurches an arm forward in his restraints. He cackles. "Scared, doctor?"

I swallow down any discomfort and do my best to mask my exterior evidence. He's no fool. He giggles at my efforts, stretching out in his chair as he does so. "I'm fine."

"Sure, sure." His smile widens. "Anything you say, Doc."

I decide to get a little more real. "To be honest, I'm just not used to this. I'm not _scared_, I just don't know what to expect. Especially from you. 'Expect the unexpected' is all I hear about you. It's all over the place in your file. It's only smart to take caution, right?"

"Smart indeedy-doo!"

I smile. "You seem to be in a better mood."

Well, of course I am! There's finally someone here who I can at least somewhat trust!" He folds his hands and sets them on his lap.

My smile peaks a little at his words. "You trust me?"

"Sure! Yeah, yeah, you put the act on once in a while, but I know you're not _really_ a stiff. You even said so yourself!" He leans forward a bit. "You open up a tad once in a while, I like that. I feel like maybe we could relate if only I knew you better."

I try not to laugh. "What makes you think we're similiar?"

"Do you like jokes, Harley?"

"Yeah, I _guess_-"

"See?! There's a similarity right there!" He smiles. "We _are_ alike!"

I really have no response for this. The only thing my mind focuses on is his use of my nickname. Harley. It sounds so different coming from the Joker. The way his voice makes it sound so unique. I decide not to scold him and let him go on. I'm about to open my mouth to speak when it dawns on me I have already forgotten what he had even said. It would sound so unprofessional to ask him to repeat himself. _What were we even talking about. . . . ?_

"Yoohoo?" the Joker sings, braking my thoughts. I blink a few times and find his face again. He lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Joker, I was just. . ." I search for my paper to save me. "-Going to take notes!"

He giggles. "Of course."

As I scribble down a few words that may just barely pass as note-taking, I realize how distracted I was by nearly everything he did. How easily he steered our conversation, how I let him play his game of mute, how I listened to his voice too closely when saying that name. That name that only friends, neighbors, co-workers, and family call me. That name that has forever been me. That name that had no significance or meaning to me waht so ever when he first said it. I remember it word for word. "_How about- Harley Quinn! It only suits you better, don't you think? Now there's a little Joker in you too. . ._" Now suddenly, he trusts me and it's one of the most bizarre, yet sweetest sounds to hear. I snap myself out of it and drop my pencil when I see what I have done.

My head swoops up, I don't even want to look at it. Nor do I want him to see it. I carefully slide my papers to the side and cover my notes with the Joker's folder. _It was nothing. Absolutely nothing, you just need sleep, Harleen. Just sleep._

"Harley?" There it is again. That voice. That name. Two things that shouldn't be together. But yet is so perfect it can never be seperated again. No. Stop it. Call me doctor, call me Harleen. Please. But I can't say it. I don't know why. Why can't I ask him? It's merely a name, a tag if anything.

"Yes?" He gives me a curious look. "I apologize, my mind is elsewhere today. It's been a long week. Please forgive me."

"No need for the apology, sweets. I get it."

He's so understanding. . . I almost want to apologize again. No, that would be dumb. Instead I smile, something he seems to love. "So, is there anything you'd like to talk abou-"

The door to the session room heavily pushes through and the two guards come in to take him away. The Joker smiles gleefully. "Yes, and we already did."

Dan is clutching him by the shoulders and carrying him out as I shoot him a confused look. I'm quite sure we covered nothing at all today. "You- Harley! _My_ doctor."

I beam. I don't know why. But I do. And I can't help it. The smile just gets brighter as I realize he means me. we talked about me. Very briefly, extremely briefly, but enough to make him smile. Enough to make me feel appreciated by someone. Yes, he _is_ the Joker, but that doesn't make him any less of a person. And he appreciates me. He sends me a friendly wave. "Until next time!"

My smile begins to flee fast, with each cell he is dragged passed. I sigh. What a long day. And it only will get stressful from here.

I shuffle back over to the table to grab my folder and notes before leaving to head back to my own "cell." I don't dare look at my notes again until I'm behind my own safely shut door, alone. I slide the paper out from underneath the folder and quickly glance at it. Even just the smallest peek and I'm flushing red. Why? It means nothing to me. It's not even really a symbol. Why would it be? I glance at it once more before stuffing it away in my bag to take home. Although no one would understand it's meaning, I don't want to risk anyone seeing this unprofessional sketch. Those words, sounding so possesive, swim to my mind once more as I picture the drawing. _You- Harley! _My _doctor. . . His_ doctor. Harley. A feeling of sickness punches me hard in the gut. It almost tickles. I feel nauseous and lightheaded. I gather my things to head home and those words repeat in my head, that drawing waring down my brain, clouding over my thoughts.

I unpack my things and change into my pajamas after eating a large bowl of ice cream. I slip into bed, turn the lamp off and swtich on the TV. My mind is gone. I take out the piece of paper one last time.

A rose. Not just any rose. His rose. The one he stole for me. _His_ doctor. Harley Quinn. I never did ask for it. I must ask him tomorrow if he still has the flower. I place the drawing underneath a glass of water on my bedside table, not wanting it to leave my protective boundaries. So, if I wake up and see it there, I'll know I drew it and it's real.

I'm about to dismiss TV, remembering the way I was unable to fully focus on the Joker today; until I see this particular documentary that pops its way onto the screen before I have the chance to shut it off. A documentary on Batman and the Joker. _My _patient.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 7** (The Joker's P.O.V.)

I had to admit, the first time I laid eyes on this Harley of mine, I knew she was too easy to break. But I find myself not wanting to rip her to little bite-size pieces. Not quite yet. She was too much _fun_. Too _pretty_ to waste. No. I would make her crazy, yes, but crazy for me. I snicker at my progress so far. She was already falling for me, I could see the idea already planted in her mind. She thought I was a nice, caring gentlemen. Maybe still afraid of me a little, but she shall soon forget why I am here.

I lay on my rickety cot, the bland sheets barely comfortable. They're too scratchy a fabric to be anything more. My ceiling is just as boring, but I spend time to study every speck, every lump in the tile.

"That's quite the intern you have there, Joker," Crane speaks, a cell away.

"Mmm, indeed she is." I don't sway from my somewhat comfortable position. This is as good as it gets at Arkham and it takes nearly twenty minutes of tossing and turning to get it just right.

He snickers. "If only they had stuck the poor gal with me."

I laugh. "Please, 'Crow-man, don't flatter yourself. She _asked_ for me." I peek over at his cell to see him lift an eyebrow.

"I'm _sure_ she's having the time of her life," he retorts.

I grunt my dissatisfaction. No good Halloween decoration. "And she would have a _jolly_ 'ol time studying your simple mind, Johnny-boy."

_Oh_, he didn't like _that_ one. "Watch yourself, _clown_!"

This only encourages my laughter. "Hand me a mirror!"

By now Scarecrow is shaking with rage. Then I see a slight twitch at his mouth. He begins to smile. _No. That's not fair_. "Let me know if you need any help surfacing those fears of hers. . . I'd be more than _happy _to take your place."

This makes me jump from my cot. I'd be _damned_ if I were to see even a blessed word be exchanged between him and Harley. "I'd be worried about yourself, there Johnny, you lay a finger on her."

"_Soo_, the Joker _cares _for the girl? How amusing!"

_Care_? Ha! Oh, the thought. It sends violent chuckles, rattling my spine. "My dear, Johnny. I am merely claiming property. Nothing more than business here."

"Of course, Joker." He winks and smiles. "Of course."

"Bah! Forget you." I'm not going to waste my time convincing a perch for birds that I don't have such feelings for this little intern. Sure, she had her looks going for her. Yeah, her mess ups were considerably cute. But none of that pulled at any of my strings. It couldn't, because they simply aren't attached to anything.

Scarecrow accepts my frustration silently as he creeps back into the dark corner of his cell. "Simple-minded," I mutter to myself, glaring at him from my cot. I lean myself back, head resting into my folded arms.

A pair of heavy footfalls come to a hault in front of my cell. "Come to tell me I'm legally sane, fellas?" They only grimace in response. I chuckle. "Didn't think so."

I am releaved of my cell and the men grasp both of my arms as they drag me away to the session room. Soon enough I am hauled inside and strapped down into the chair across from my doctor's. She has yet to arrive and this room and I are left alone to absorb each other. The white walls, bland and stained from previous incidents. These walls. . They could tell better stories to Harley than, say, even _me_.

I'm about losing my patience when I see the heavy door push through, revealing little miss Quinzel. One of the guards, Dan, is saying something to her. I strain to hear and catch the end of it. "-yeah, just let me know, sugar." He eyes her as she enters the room. _Oh, what an airbag. He thinks he can get her? How hilarious!_

"I certainly will, Dan!" She gives him a smile. _-what?! _This can't be right. This girl is supposed to be falling for _me_! Go find your _own _psychiatrist! My thoughts send a slight giggle from my lips. I mean, the brute is a security guard at _Arkham_, surely he needs one.

Harley shuts the door hard. Immediately, I notice her choice in attire. Much more flirty and bold today. A deep violet blouse with ruffles raveling down into a V, accompanied by a tight black skirt. "Why, hello, Harley!"

"Hello, Mr. Joker," she greets warmly. "How are you doing today?"

"Absolutely _splendid_ now that I'm back here with you!" My little Harl is _already_ blushing and we've barely begun! Oh, how _easy_ this is. I fight the urge to yawn. "How is my favorite doctor?"

A smile breaks her professional exterior, as it is much more than any generic grin. No, no, this is a smile of a potential crush. "I'm well, Joker. Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Doc! You asked first, after all." I lean back in my chair, familiarizing myself with its cold, hard surface. "I must say, Doc. Love the outfit." As if she had forgotten what she was wearing, her head dangles down to address the clothing.

"Oh, this?" She says, sounding surprised, tugging at the top.

"All of it."

"Thanks. . ." She hesitates for a moment. "I was dressing this morning and didn't even realize I pulled this on. Then, driving on my way here, I realized that's another thing we have in common."

I lift an eyebrow, confused. "Another thing we have in common?"

"_You _know! _Purple!" _She exclaims, pointing to me.

"Ah!" I smile. "So it is. I _told_ you we weren't so different, Doc!"

She smiles even wider. "I tried not to laugh, when I realized, but I couldn't help it."

"Never postpone laughter, Harley! It's not good for you." I shake a scolding finger at her.

Checking her watch, she decides it's time to get down to business. "During our last session I feel like the time just flew by! I figured I'd bring my watch. So, let's get started!" she says. "How would like to begin this session, Joker?" She asks, straightening out her papers.

Folding my hands in my lap, I smile. "I do believe we were _just_ getting into the topic of _you, _Doc. Our _similarities. _And you have found another!" I exclaim, tossing my arms up into the air. She gasps, seeing I have worked my way out of my bindings.

"Joker! Your restraints!" She shrieks. "H-How did you-?"

"I believe the effort they put into producing these gets sluggish every year! It gets easier every time!" I smile. "Or maybe it's just _me_." I work out the indentations that they have left in my wintery-white flesh.

Harley sits back in her chair, a hand to her mouth. "I-I think maybe you should put those back on, Mr. Joker."

"_Ohh_, but they're _soo_ tight!" I complain, showing her the marks in my skin. It works just as easily as I thought it might. Her face softens with pity.

"Awww. . ." She says to herself.

"Not to worry, sweets! They'll be right back where 'ol Danno left them before they're back. They'll never have to know!"

Undecicive, she rubs the back of her neck, in thought. "Well. . . Alright."

"Delightful!" I exclaim. "Now, tell me something about yourself, Doc! Something I don't know yet!"

"What would you like to know?"

"Anything you're willing to spill, cupcake! Like say, _your_ childhood?" I gesture a hand as I speak.

Just when I think I've got her, her forehead creases. "Now _wait_ a minute, that isn't fair! You wouldn't even tell me about _yours_!"

"Well perhaps I might tell you if you start first."

She thinks this over for a minute and I smile when I see that she nods in agreement. "Alright, Mr. Joker, you win."

"Excellent!" She beams at my excitement, but it slowly fades as she thinks back to her past. Her face is completely solemn now. Perfect, this is going to be easier than I thought.

". . . I'm not so sure where to start. . Frankly, because I didn't think I'd ever have to explain my past to anyone," she begins. Her voice is grave and tired. "I chose to forget it, as if it were yesterday's grocery list." She glances at me for a brief moment, those big blues holding her old, forgotten pain. I smile sympathetically for her. "I never did have the best childhood. I had good friends in high school, but they didn't last very long because I wasn't allowed out of the house. . . Dad, well he wasn't much of a family man. I tried my best at school to please my parents, but it never seemed to be enough. Especially to dad. . . He never saw any potential in me. ."

"_Awww_, you _poor _girl," I say with a pout. She gives me a trying smile. A pathetic, small one.

"He was a conman, a charming one at that. He used it to his advantage, destroying families. . Including our own." She is fighting back tears with every fiber of her being. "I knew he loved me though. . I had to know. . What it was like in that mind of his. So, that's how I ended up going to college for psychiatry, after going to college for gymnastics."

"Gymnastics, eh?" I ask, raising a brow.

"Yeah," she smiles now, proudly. Her tears slowly evaporate into nothing. "Was on my way to the Olympics!"

"_Wow_, a _tough_ one!" I praise. "What stopped you?"

"Eh, I didn't make it. . ." She frowns. "I could've though! If they had just given me a chance!" She sighs.

"There, there, Harls. You don't need them, not a single _one_. You've got _me_!" She goes to smile, but catches sight of her notes. Picking up her pencil, I see she wants me to begin now. I'm not quite ready. "How about I see a flip or two?" My voice is innocent and playful. She doesn't resist it's pull for a minute. I see the pencil drop and I smile.

"Sure!" I catch a hint of Brooklyn in her voice, and raise an eyebrow. "Oh jeeze, sorry," she says. "Thought that part of me was gone."

"I like it!" I exclaim.

"_Really_?" She asks, surprised. I nod enthusiastically.

"Oh yes, quite a lot, Doc. Don't chase it away, let it stay! It's just a little bit more of the _real _you!"

"O-okay!" She shrugs and smiles. "I guess if you don't mind it."

I clap my hands together, rushing her. "Those flips! Let's see them!"

"Right!" Harley jumps from her chair, pushing it aside. Her hands grab ahold of the top of the chair, as she pushes off. Within these few seconds, Harley's in the air, and suddenly she is at my feet, landing from a triple front-flip. "Tah-dah!"

"Bravo!" I whistle and give her praise she is so unfamiliar to. Her smile has never been so wide. "That was superb! And you _didn't_ make it to the Olympics? Tsk, tsk."

"I know!" She begins to frown a little. "Dad didn't like the idea anyway."

"Oh, what does _he_ know. Why, just look at you _now_! Some joke on him, eh?"

"Thanks for understanding, Joker," she says with a smile. This moment, right here. I knew she was more comfortable around me than when she walked through that door. She trusts me. I decide that it's time I give the poor girl what she wants. Hope you brought some tissues, Harl.

"Oh, of course, my dear. I understand all too well, you best have that pencil ready, cause you're in for quite the story." I nod toward the thing as her face wipes away any trace of sadness, excitement washing over.

"You mean- you're _really_ going to tell me?"

"Sure, toots, I'll give you something to stick in your notes." Harley's expression is glowing with enthusiasm. Even her eyes seem to speak. For some reason, I picture them having a real bubbly voice, not this professional make-over she insists on having. And that Brooklyn accent.

As I shift in my chair, in thought, I see her study me closely from the corner of my eye. I look back at her, and quickly she ducks behind her notepad. A let a soft chuckle leave my lips to let her know I saw her. A softer hue than before floods her cheeks. My smile flees as I begin. "I suppose you might say we have a bit more in common than you anticipated, Harl. I don't have the good memories the next guy might have, simply because I have only one memory I ever recall ever being slightly happy." I see her head peek from her notes, waiting for me to go on. Her entire face pours sympathy.

"Oh, Mr. . ." Her voice fades into nothing. Each word drips with comfort.

"It's quite alright, sweets. My dad was consumed by the grape, y'see." She nods and adds to her notes. Here goes the real kicker. "This toxin. . The awful drink that made me nothing more than a lonely punching bag. No one to care for such a misfortunate soul." Harley drops her pencil and clutches her chest as if she has heart burn.

"You poor thing. . . He. . hit you?"

"Oh yes. Sometimes not, but those were very rare for such a troubled man. Quite unheard of indeed." My psychiatrist now chewed her lip, blood specking the surface. "Doc?"

"Sorry, Mr. J, I just-" her voice catches, mid-sentence. Her head lurches up, to see if I noticed. _Oh, I did_. "I-I. . . Sorry."

"Please no apologies, Doc. It's just as fine." I begin to giggle. "That _and_ the nickname." Her eyes widen and cheeks flush deep crimson as I address her slip up.

"Sorry, Mr. Joker, I-"

I hold a hand up to stop her. "No, no, Harls! _Keep_ it, it's so much more pleasant!" I smile. "Say it again, for me, Doc?"

"Mr. J. . .?"

"_Ah, that's _it! That's the one!"

Harley creases her forehead. "Are you sure that's appropriate?"

"So what, if it's not? You have yet to tattle on _me_ for calling you Harley. And I don't think you _will_." A smug smile leans into my lips and she folds her arms.

"What makes you think I haven't?"

"Because it makes you smile, _giggle_, and _blush_ too much." Her face beats red at this. "Plus you wouldn't risk losing _me_." I frown. "Would you, Doc?"

She sighs, defeated. ". . No. You're not like the others. To be honest with you, I would be devastated if I was assigned someone else."

"_Awww_! Harley, I'm flattered." I bind up my left wrist as I talk. I'm perfectly capable of restricting the other alone, but it would be such a shame not to have her do it. "Wanna help an 'ol friend?" I shake my free hand at her.

"Oh, uh, sure." Quickly, her small steps end at my side, as she nervously takes my hand in hers and places it in my restraints. "S-Sorry if this hurts. . ."

"I've had worse, Doc. This is probably the most careful anyone's ever dealt with me." She pouts. "Arkham ain't so nice, toots. Get yourself outta here while you're new." I begin to cackle. "Or get yourself _in_! They're all a bunch of whack-job losers, but _I _can sure show you a good time!"

She laughs at my joke, but I don't think she sees the reality in it. After tightening up my right wrist, she lingers a bit closely before sending herself back to her seat. "You know I probably would be saved a spot down here if they ever found out I just did _that_!" A wave of panick washes over her face. "Please don't tell!"

"Your secret's safe with me, cupcake." I give her a reassuring wink.

For some reason, Harley's face does not color like I am so used to. Hmm. Perhaps she has grown used to it? Nahhh. But then the door gives and Dan and Rick come to take me away.

Dan turns to Harley to say goodbye. "I'll see you soon, doll." I growl at him through clenched teeth. _This bungling bafoon thinks he can just try to move in on her?_ I am about ready to speak up when I see Harley isn't even looking at the fellow. Why, she is batting those eyelashes at _me_. She doesn't even _notice_ Danny boy!

"See ya, Mr. J."

**Day 8** (Harley's P.O.V.)

_Wow_, I think, taking a second glance at my notes. Joan better be pleased with this one! We made some serious progress! He _actually_ opened up for once. Yeah, it took a bit of my background to get us there, but hey!

I wasn't very excited about the idea when he first brought it up. . . But looking back on our session, I'm _glad_ I told him everything. No one's really asked, or really cared for me to tell. . . Joker was different than the typical Arkham patient_, he_ cared.

The thought of placing those bindings upon his wrist sends an upsetting twist in my stomach. The ugly knots that make up Gotham. How they all see him. As this sidistic madman. . . He doesn't deserve these cuffs around his wrists. . He's just misunderstood. . . If only they knew what his home life was. Maybe then they would see.

Harleen comes back to bite me. _Focus! Yes, alright. . . So you admit it, he is sadly, adorable, in some sort of guilt driven way. But he is still a criminal who has done terrible things. You need to remind yourself of that. _I say these words over and over, whispering them to myself until my mouth runs dry. But they don't seem to fit in my heart the way they should. They sound wrong to me. I can't even convince myself.

Time to bring out those books I bought.

I dig through my office, leafing through the most professional of psychiatry, finding some sort of explanation to such inappropriate feelings. None seem to cover the problem I am faced with. Looks like I'm doing this on my own.

Sighing, almost defeated, I slump back in my chair, thinking over our session. Such as any details I missed that need to be written down in my report, or something I might have done wrong, or the Joker's smile. . . _No, focus!_

Now that I have lost my train of thought, there's no going back now. Once I lose my attention, it's hard to gain it back. His smile haunts me, that laugh echoing inside my skull, bouncing off the corners to remind me it hasn't gone anywhere. And neither has the Joker. . . It must be so boring cooped up in that gross old cell. _Oh please, Harley. You have a session again tomorrow. I'm sure he can handle the Arkham cells just fine without your company. He's been doing it for years_.

Finishing up my notes, I slap them down in a pile on my desk. _Oh, and his _childhood! _That_ poor _thing! I thought my younger years were bad! I thought I was going to bubble up into nothing, tears braking whatever professional exterior I have salvaged. He was right though. . . We do have more in common than I had thought. He made that clear today. With our family issues. Poor Mr. . . _

My heart doubles over. Mr. . . J. Mr. J. That name. My voice. I wonder if he had the same moment I had, caught up in the two unfamiliar ideas. How did I even _come up_ with such a nickname? It's like the name just fell right out of my mouth before I could scoop it back and claim it as my own secret thought. But now it was out there in the open for him to observe. To pick at and joke. Smile at. I'm not quite positive if the smile is out of glee or simply a mock of my sudden childish name for him. I think back to when he asked for me to say it again. He enjoyed it. The recipe of a Brooklyn melody singing out a name that resembles his own. A song he asked to hear not once but _twice_. So instead I sang it for him three.

_Mr. J. . _. Ya know, for an accidental remark, that wasn't half bad. I actually think I like it. It fits him. It isn't so. . _formal_. It's cute and fun, like him. I sample it summore, dusting off my old Brooklyn accent to use once again. "Mr. J," I whisper to myself. I smile at the sound. "Mr. J. . . Mr. J!" What a great combo! A hand on my hip, I proudly take blame for such a brilliant pair. _I didn't see any_ other _doctors come up with such a thing. Heck, I don't think any of them even liked jokes! I have stuff in common with, Mr. J. _I laugh out loud to myself, walking to the kitchen to grab some late-night supper. I was so wrapped up in the Joker I had forgotten to eat!

A generous bowl of corn flakes will suffice for tonight. I have too much on my mind to really focus on a _meal_. Not really in the mood to cook, either. Whilst putting the box away rather than cluttering my counter further, I see my giant pile of mail. Ugh, bills. Bills, coupons, and credit card offers. Much more than usual unfortunately.

Riffling through the thick stack in my hands, I toss the offers aside. I claw through the envelopes, to see I'm much more behind on my payments than I was afraid of. Of course. Well, my new title should rake in more than I'm used to, I just have to remember to pay it. I don't play well with deadlines.

Something catches my eye. Generic scribbles on the front of the envelope. No deceiving plastic, no stamps, no stickers. A genuine letter. _Hmm, no return address. Odd._

Dismissing this, I flip it over and tear it open. I peek into the envelope and find a thin film. . A photo, it seems. My fingers carefully slip it out, without tearing it. My heart skips as I look at this familiar face. She stares at me, the ocean captured within glassy sockets. A soft pink line of a mouth, pairing with resting cheeks. The sunny locks drip around her face like rain. Her exterior innocence appears cute, but I know the truth. This college student is no angel. She never was I guess.

Because I know I certainly am not now.

_Who sent this_? I think, seeking the name on the front. No address, but I'm left with a name to call this sender. I'm not sure who he is, I've never heard of him before.

I turn over the photo and see in small scroll "_a friend_." What friend would send this? I don't remember withholding many friends in college. . No one that would send me a picture of myself, unless it was some sort of gag. "Whatever," I say, tossing the picture into the trash, along with the envelope. I don't know a Jack White.

**Day 9**

Okay, this guard wants to go on a date with me tonight. . . Dan. Which only makes it much more awkward when I show up to work today. "Hey sugar," he greets me. The other guard smirks as he waits outside the door with him. I know I agreed on the date, but the second I see the Joker, surprisingly waiting somewhat patiently for me to arrive, Dan is the last person I want to think about seeing.

"Hi." He takes notice in my syrupy new voice, eyes wide. He opens the door for me as I enter.

"See you tonight," he adds. The Joker perks his head up at us when he hears Dan's voice. I steer my head around to address Dan, not wanting to be rude. I say nothing but nod and slightly clear my voice to tell him to leave. The Joker picks up on this.

"Run along now, she won't be needing you Dan-O." His hand gestures as far as his cuffs allow. Dan grunts angrily.

"Shut it, clown! No one's talkin' to you," he growls. Joker just smiles back at him. Dan's attitude has set me over edge. I won't let Mr. J take that.

I set my shoulders and straighten my back, turning around. "He's right. Leave. Oh, and next time maybe a little lest hostile to the patient? Thanks." My voice has a bite to it. Dan's face twitches with surprise. He says nothing and shuts the door, murmuring things to himself.

The Joker busts out in a roaring laughter. "What a riot! You certainly have a sterness to you, Doc. Who knew!"

"I won't let them talk to you like that, Mr. J. No one will from now on, 'kay?"

"Gee, thanks Doc! I've never had anyone stick up for me like that! Except maybe my boys, but. . Oh, hell, even _they_ aren't always loyal!" I hear his words but for some reason they aren't registering. Just his voice. . . If only I could ask him to say Harley again. . . "Doc? Did you hear me?"

"Sorry, Mr. J! Just thinking. . ." I frown. "Do you know a Jack White?"

His eyes widen with surprise, but quickly wipes it away with a smile. "A Jack White, eh? . . . Sorry. It sounds familiar, but. . . Nope! Doesn't ring any bells!" He narrows his eyes, but the smile insists on staying. "Why? New love interest, Doc?"

A laugh escapes me. "Ha! Hardly. My dating life is. . . Well, it isn't very salvageable."

He raises an eyebrow. "_Right_. And that's why you and that brute are on for dinner tonight?"

I sit back in my chair. "Oh, yeah, _that_. I _thought_ he was nice and all but. . If he's gunna talk to you like that- no way!" I sigh.

The Joker giggles happily. "That's the cherry on _my_ day. Maybe now this poor soul can have a chance!" He points a thumb into his chest, his wide grin is proud.

I blush. "Well, you certainly had a better chance to begin with."

_Oh crap. __**Why did I just say that. **_

"That's _cute_," the Joker laughs. "Have a little crush, do we Doc?"

"Um. . . I shouldn't have said that-"

"But yet you _did_! And you wouldn't lie to _me_, Harl! I know you wouldn't. You're too sweet, too _kind_ of a doll to do _that_ to your Mr. J." He pretends to frown. "You wouldn't want to make this clown sad, would you?"

He said it. Harley. Well. Even shorter. Harl. His unique early-English accent rolls it so perfectly that I melt. I melt right into the palm of his hands. "No! Nevah, Mr. J! I only want you _happy_."

"Ain't you a sweetheart, Doc. Warm my little heart!" He dramatically clutches his chest as he says this. He creases his forehead suddenly, his arms calmly descending back to the table. "So, who is this Jack White?"

"I'm not sure. . . I was hoping maybe you would know. Dunno why, cause _I_ don't even know and he's sending me letters." I sigh. The Joker raises an eyebrow, displeased.

"Sounds like a secret admirer to me, Doc." His voice has grown cold and low.

"Doubt it. I mean- maybe. But he seems more of a creep than an anonymous flirt."

The Joker chuckles. "A creep you say? Why so?"

"He. . Sent me a picture."

The Joker gives me an odd look. "Of _what_, exactly?"

"Myself. . . When I just had entered college. . I think maybe he was from the same school, but. . You would think I would remember the name." I shudder slightly at the thought of some stranger swiping pictures of my past and mailing me them. I'm not used to stalkers, hopefully this Jack fellow keeps his distance.

"My, my, Harley, you _are_ a busy bee! Ya got Dan, me, and now _this_ bafoon," he spits. A hand squishes into his cheek, propping his head up. His expression is tired.

I smile when he says I have him but it quickly disappears. He thinks of me to be some two-timer broad, I'm guessing. This was _so_ not my angle. Yes, it was a nice gift to use when I needed it, and flirting was rather fun. But, I could care less about some beefy guard sending me compliments, asking me to dinner, or a random pen pal sneaking photography. It's all just small pieces that make up a day, really. But the _Joker_. Now _he_ was different. The Joker was certainly more than just my patient. This very session room was a small fortress away from the real world where my smile was accepted, accent was asked for, and laughter was always music. The small hour that brightens my every day. So much, that I was losing focus on why I was here. _Crap, your notes! You should be asking him _real_ questions! Not gossiping about romance and what have you. _"I assure you, I have no means to keep contact with this anonymous Jack fellow, and well, you know the story on Dan. But can we-"

"What about _me_, Doc?" His eyes are playful and his smile excited. I'm sure he knows the answer to this one, he just loves playing this game with me. I want to get back on track, but he won't cooperate without an answer, I know him.

"I don't need to tell you that story, Joker, you could tell it to me like you wrote the book yourself." Ugh, this flirting thing needs to be taken under control. I need to stop. I try to erase the flirty smile my face holds but my nerves have frozen.

"Oh, _can I_? And what do you propose I know about your thoughts of myself, Harley?" He waits for my response, but I wasn't ready to answer this. I'm not ready to expose my deep thoughts, because to be honest- I've been lying to myself! Trying to shove away the truth. . . If I can't tell myself I . . I l-like the. .- no! I won't even think it. I can't. . . How can I tell _him_?! How did I even _get_ these feelings? He's criminally insane! He's a nut! "Hmmm?" He asks, waiting. He sees my look of panic and I see it has pressed his laugh button, climbing up each step until he is roaring.

"I. . . I don't know," I lie.

How stupid of me. If anyone can see through lies its the Joker. "I don't believe that's _true_, Doc. Why don't you go ahead and tell the class- when you're ready of course. I promise I won't laugh! Well. . . No, that's a lie." He giggles a bit.

I decide to work an edge he can't throw me off of. A grin appears on my lips as the words form in my head. Words that are _true_, but do not expose what's deep down. "I think you're a very funny guy, and a fantastic patient. I enjoy our work, Joker. Which if you please, I would like to get back to?"

His laughter abruptly ends and his mouth shrugs, disappointed. "Just when we were getting to the fun part!"

His child-like response sends my laughter his way. What can I say? He was adorably funny. "Well, if you like our sessions so much, then I'd hope you'd cooperate so we can still _have _them, Mr. J." I frown. "Or do you want me to get fired?"

"Oh, of course not! What would I do _without _you, Harls?"

Would he really be so out of place without me? He's the Joker, he's always on top of things. "Not that I'm at all unhappy with your answer- but I'm sure you were fine before me, Mr. J."

"-Well, if you got fired to be put in here with me I wouldn't be all too remorseful," he says with a wink, ignoring what I said completely. It's alright, he doesn't need to answer what I said. I'd rather not hear the truth anyway, I like when he makes me feel needed.

I need to stay focused. "Alright! Seriously, Mr. J, we need to focus on the session."

"Okay, okay, fine." He looks very bored now, but he'll have to deal. I need to gain my control back, whatever control I ever had to begin with. He places his arms behind his head and crosses his legs, resting his feet on the table, as if this were just a hotel he was staying at momentarily. "Whatta ya got for me, Doc?"

"Last session you said you had only _one_ good memory of your childhood?" I try to blanket my sadness, covering it up with a firm exterior. "I was wondering if. . If maybe you could tell me what that was. ."

The Joker smiles brightly. "Oh, of course, Doc!" His face softens with the memory. Such a cute smile. "The only day a smile found my father's face. I remember it vividly. I was just a seven-year old tot at the time. He took me to the circus, something I've always wanted to see. I was so excited! When those clowns came out, I couldn't stop smiling." He looks at me, a happy gleam in his eyes. "_Why_ those silly guys were running around _dropping their pants_! I thought it was funny, of course, but hid my laughter from dad, thinking it was inappropriate- but I see my 'ol man _laughing too! Laughing_! I had never heard such a sound before!" The Joker jumps up from his chair suddenly and points a finger in the air as he talks. "So that following night- I sneak me some of his favorite slacks and pull them to my shoes-" within the seconds he says this, his Arkham pants are to the floor, exposing his red and white polka-dotted boxers. "Hi, Dad! Look at me!" An uncontrollable laughter begins to surface, not at his boxers, but at his cute attempt to make his father laugh. "Slipping, I fell to floor and ripped a great big hole- right in the crotch!"

Laughter erupts, busting from not just the Joker, but me too. This small joke gone wrong is just too funny. Picturing this small child that was once the Joker, running around with pants too big for him, tearing right through them as he falls. It was simply the most hilarious and adorable scene I could ever picture. Tears are now surfacing, dumping down both cheeks as the laughs just keep coming. The character the Joker uses as he talks, getting right into the moment, it was like you were there when it happened. He should totally do audiobooks. He slips his pants back up, his smiling disappearing.

"-And then he broke my nose."

Stop.

It all ends. Just like that. The laughter, the smiles, everything, except the tears. Those stay right where they are. I gasp, bringing a hand to my lips in shock and horror. "Mr. J! He didn't!" By now I'm sobbing.

"Aww, Harl, don't take it to heart. That's just how comedy works, I'm afraid. You'll always take shots from folks who just don't get the joke," he says with a sad smile. He turns to walk back a crossed to his chair, but I shoot up and catch his arm before he walks back. He turns around with surprise on his face. I embrace him in a warm and loving hug.

"How can't I, Mr. J. . . ? You'll always be funny to me. ." The tears still roll down my face, but I have them more under control. His arms return the hug, patting me on the back softly.

_"Awww_, Harley, you're as sweet as pumpkin pie." He pulls away, I'm sure he's not used to hugs. I think about how awful the brake must've felt, as I look at his nose. If he cares at all about my opinion, I think his nose is perfect. "Poor Harley, your makeup is running."

"Sorry, Mr. J, you shouldn't see me like this," I say. I go to wipe away the tears with a sleeve, but the Joker appears suddenly at my side.

"No, no, Harl, let me." He soaks up the black tears with his own white sleeve, staining it. "There! _Beautiful_." He makes me smile so big, my heart is pounding with emotions. I don't care how foreign it may seem to him, I can't _not_ hug him again. I need his embrace again. It's so comforting, so _warm_. He hugs me back without hesitation this time. We are so close, I know he can feel the thundering of my heart, but I don't want to back away. "Ya know. . My father never hugged me."

This only makes me want to squeeze tighter, never let go. But unfortunately, just as soon as my force becomes stronger, the Joker pulls away, yet again. "Do you. . . Not like getting hugs, Mr. J?" I work out the creases in my top. "It isn't very professional of me either, I'm so sorry-"

"Stop, Harley! They were fine." He gives me a comforting smile to cover up the slight raise in his voice. "It was fine."

"Okay. . . Sorry, Mr. J."

"No matter. Check the time, will ya toots?"

I gasp, seeing Dan and Rick will be entering any minute. "Your bindings!" But he is already strapped in his chair when I look up. ". . You're good, Mistah J." He smiles, as my accent has deepened even more. My face flushes.

Dan is tugging at Mr. J's side. "Bye, pumpkin."

I smile. Dan grunts, displeased, as Rick slightly chuckles with surprise at my welcoming of the Joker's pet name. "You don't get to call her anything but doctor- got it?" Dan spits.

The Joker just laughs. "No one ever told _me_ that." Dan shoves him violently forward in frustration. "Oh, _oh_!" Joker adds, excitedly. "I forgot to mention! It seems that you'll be going out with _yourself_ tonight. Sorry about that, Dan-O. There's plenty of Docs in the asylum! No worries!" His cackles deepen. "Better luck next time!"

Dan turns back to look at me but I just shrug, still smiling. The door slams, leaving me alone in the session room.

And I'm still smiling.

**Author's note:** Don't you just love how quickly she's falling? It's sad, yet. . . So cute. There has always been an ongoing battle between Batman fans on whether or not the Joker has any feelings, even the smallest, for Harley. And I have my own opinion on the matter, given what Paul Dini (creator of Harley Quinn's character) says about the Joker's thoughts on Harley in Arkham files: Harley Quinn - "Somewhere deep down in whatever shriveled up little nut he has for a heart, there might be a little bit of affection for her." But I will not quite reveal whether or not those feelings are there in the story so it pertains to both sides, creating a bit more of an easier read for fans on either side of the subject. _Anyhoo_, I hope you're enjoying the story! Perhaps more days in the Joker's P.O.V.? They will be limited, considering the matter explained above, but- give me feedback! Like on what you think of the use of Jack White, eh, eh? ;) quite the twist. More to come! Keep reading/reviewing! Love all of my followers, greatly appreciate all of them!


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 10**

Unfortunately, sleep is still a hopeless dream for me, as a chug down my fourth cup of coffee shamefully. Glad to say I am fully alert, maybe a little too alert, I realize, as I nearly fly down each hallway. Mr. J's quick to point it out. "Feelin a little zippy today, Doc?"

I laugh, a little too quickly and a little too hard. He gives me an odd look, but smiles. "Maybe. . I should lay off the coffee. ." I say, pushing the mug a little farther away. I eye it as if it was a vile substance.

"It isn't always the caffiene's fault, Harl." He giggles when he sees my perplexed expression.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Maybe that's just _you_, Doc! Your personality!" He raises an eyebrow, turning his head waiting for an affirmative. "Well? What do you think? Is it?"

"I mean. . _Maybe_." I'm not quite sure how to answer his theories about myself because its not like I have much fun out on my own. Out of this session room- I'm not very positive _who_ I am. So how can I be sure _in_ it? "I really don't know, to be honest with you. I don't have many people to share my personality with."

"_Sure_ you do!" He leans forward with a cocky grin. "I'm plenty enough!"

The Joker's statement is true, he is. But that doesn't make it any more easier to figure who I am. Because the person we create together only is me for an hour a day. That's not really a true person than. . . _Is it_. "I'll leave it up to you to figure me out then."

"_Ooohh_, that's not really a challenge." The Joker has this amazing spark to him that never goes away. The exciting flame that is found in nearly all of his qualities. From his monstrous grin, that I find to be oddly beautiful; his dark eyes some say to look demonic, but I find them to be almost cherubic. The thick green that is always gelled to perfection, never a hair out of place. And finally his famous, recognizable-anywhere laugh. Even his small chuckles and giggles are simply exciting. All of his energy completely moves me, it's a force I have yet to define.

"Joker. . ." I find myself saying.

His proud grin transforms to a adorable one so quickly I have to blink to focus. This sudden expression leaves fluttering deep within the pits of my stomach. "Yes, Doc?" His eyes are wide, waiting. So innocent looking. . .

"You're. . ." The whispered words "so stunning" float through the air, as I realize I'm not even paying attention and rather talking to myself than him. I wish I could fly out after them and catch the words before they reach him, as if it was a text message.

"'Scuse me, my dear, but what was that?"

I blink confused, as if I haven't finished my sentence yet. "What?"

"You said something, what was it?"

"Um. . Nevermind." I can feel my face get hot, as if maybe he saw the words on my lips. The capillaries in my cheeks dilate, flushing the deep red substance to my skin. Even thinking about it feels forbidden, as if my thoughts are just as open to read as a book. Mr. J's smile peaks when he sees my change of color.

"Come now, Harley. Tell your 'Mistah J' what you said, hmm?" No getting out of this one. How could I with that voice anyway? It was so rhythmic, like a song that you just lose yourself in. Each note carries you a little farther into the clouds.

"I. . . I was just saying. ." I reach a hand up to the back of my neck out of nervousy. I wasn't ready to jump off of cloud 9 quite yet.

Joker smiles. "Go on." His forehead creases when his eyebrows lift lightly in a small but cute gesture of patience, creating small shadows in his pale skin.

"I think you're just. . . Ya know, attractive." Immediately I bite my lip and I feel the flesh of my face and neck grow to what feels like a hundred degrees. You said it. _You said it, you said it, you said it, you said it. And you can't take it back._

Not to my surprise, he laughs, and I'm bracing for the rejection to cut me deep. After a few more chuckles, he calms down. _Oh no, here it comes._ "Are you making a _move_, Harley?" My heart skips about three beats and I'm not sure if its going slump into my stomach and deteriorate in the acids, or melt from over-heating first. "I was _wondering_ when you would! It was about _time_ you roll the dice!"

This hits me harder than. Well just about anything I've been hit with. "Ya-. .ya were?"

"Come _on_, Harley. You think I didn't know?" He laughs. "I mean we were playin this game since the day you first saw me!"

I can feel my color slowly balance out as I realize he welcomes it. Heck, he actually stated the fact we've been flirting for quite some time, which I silently have been ignoring. _So, what does this mean. . ._ "I didn't know what you'd say. ."

"_Well_, first I must ask- did you really blow that guard off last night? Or did you cave and go on the terrible date anyway?"

I laugh. "Course I didn't go!" I'm not second guessing my words anymore, they're all falling out again. "You would have been the talk of the night anyway. I'm sure he wouldn't have liked that."

He chortles a bit. "And why might _I_ be brought up, Harls? Mind telling me why that'd be the case?"

I can clearly see he is just asking me this for fun. He enjoys seeing me struggle with my words as my emotions toy with my head. It's entertaining, I'm sure. Plus, I mean he's _the_ Joker, it can only be 10 times more better hearing women talk about you when your the Clown Prince of Crime. "Cause I'm not interested in anything else. ." I want to bite my tongue, slap my mind for saying this. But no matter the clamp I hold, the blood that may ooze, I say it anyway. My most recent deepest fear. "Or anyone else."

**(Would be) Session 15**

I'm not ashamed, I like the guy. Mr. J is completely and utterly dreamy. Our sessions together have been wonderful. My notes becoming seldom, I think Joan is starting to catch on. . . But it's all worth it.

Things are just as normal as they usually are, and dont get me wrong, I love our sessions, but I'm gunna change the game a bit. Today I want it all to change. I want him to know I like more than just how he looks. I like _him_. It's coming out all today, I just know it.

I pack up a few things, my folders, pictures, etc. and head for the door. My phone has other plans. _This has to stop happening. One day I will be late for work_. "Hello?"

"Harley? It's Joan. . . Have you read the paper yet? Did anyone call you?"

My heart flutters nervously. "No. . ."

"You might want to check it." I hang up, I don't waste a minute searching for any kind of farewells. My mail is in my hands before I even set the phone down. Tossing bills behind me carelessly, I stop when the Gotham paper is in my view.

**Joker escapes Arkham once again**. "_No! No, no, no, no, no, no_!" A dusky photo of my Clown Prince is centered underneath the headline. A sad groan leaves my lips and I throw the paper a crossed the counter. It slides until it hits the floor on the other side. Guilty, as if the picture was a small piece of the real Joker, I flee to his side to pick it back up. "Sorry. ." I whisper.

I rip the page from the rest of the articles, heading to my room to tac it up. Only his glowing eyes and mischievous grin appear from the darkness of the photograph. It's enough to slightly comfort me. "Where are you. . . ?" I hear myself say.

I return to my kitchen, not bothering to pick up the bills that decorate my floor. Some are crinkled after being thoughtlessly stepped on. Oh well. I do take the time to search through the rest of my mail that lay in a disorganized pile on the granite. _Trash. Trash. Trash. Trash. Trash. Tr-_ Jack White. _Who on earth is this guy?_ I tear through the paper, almost angrily. This time I am left with a playing card. A Jack. _What does that mean?_ Ugh, freak. I am just about to rip the card in half, but catch sight of the brand name. It's the same the Joker uses. I decide against my better judgement, to keep the card. Maybe my puddin' will enjoy it in our next session. _Puddin'? I wonder if he'll like that. . ._ A distressful sigh whisps from between my lips, worrying about my Mr. J. The roads must be packed with the Gotham police. Poor thing. He just wants a little fun before being dragged back to that horrid place. . .

I do want him back though. He needs to come back. Where I know he will be taken care of. Where I can _make sure_ he's taken care of. I giggle to myself, remembering my scolding to the guards. How flustered they were.

Another dreadful ring. _What the hell is it, now?!_ To my surprise, it's Joan once again. "I'm guessing you saw?"

"Yes." I'm not in the mood to talk.

"Listen, since Joker is unavailable at this time, would you consider setting up a session with another patient until he is brought back? It will only improve you." I honestly have the urge to slap her, which bewilders me, it's not very often I get any sudden violent urges. If at all. "I know you are very in depth within your evaluation with the Joker, but maybe it will give you something new? It will certainly add to your pay check." I roll my eyes and strangle the phone. She's mocking me. But, no just will not come out of my mouth. Just when I think denial is taking place, my tongue betrays me, somehow forming the word "no" until it is morphed into an irritated "yes."

"Great! I will see you at noon, Harleen."

I growl, chucking the phone acrossed the room. How dare she replace Mr. J with someone else.

I escape to my room once more before leaving to Arkham Asylum. Not to check my hair, but to check on him one last time before leaving him alone. "Be safe out there, puddin'." _The Joker? Safe? HA._ "Well, ya know what I mean."

Where is Joan? She isn't waiting for me, as usual. She normally isn't a very busy woman. I catch Rick walking towards me. "Heya, Rick. Ya seen Joan?"

"Uh. . . " He looks uncomfortable. "Yeah. Dan's talkin' to her right now."

"Oh?"

His face contorts defensively. "Hey, I got nothin' to do with it." He begins walking away.

"To do with _what_?" But he has already left. A stressful sigh leaves me.

The elevator takes me down to the rogues to visit the Joker's empty cell. It lacks nearly all character with his absence. Each detail merely just a regular addition to any old room. None of his energy has clung to any of the walls, he has left behind nothing. This very atmosphere is empty. "You alright there, miss?"

"Huh?" I spin to see myself peering into the eyes of Mr. Crane.

"I see his lack of presence seems to trouble you." He puzzles. "Why is that, doctor?"

"I guess you'd have to ask Riddler that," I say with a shrug. Scarecrow laughs.

"Ah, I understand now. You're a humorous one too."

Scarecrow is getting at something and I get the gist of it, but his certainty loses me. "Whaddya mean?"

He points a long, bony finger to the cell away from his. "The clown."

"Yes, he's missing. So?"

"So it bothers you. But not because of your pay, correct?" He smiles. "No. Because of the fear you have of losing this prankster. Not as a patient, but as a whole."

I want to object, defend myself. But for what? He's right. And I am left speechless and vulnerable. "Dr. Quinzel!" A hand grasps my shoulder. It's Joan. "Are you ready for your next patient?"

I glance back at Johnathon and he has slunk back into his corner, picking at a thin layer of dirt under his nails. "Yes, I'm ready."

"Good," Joan says, leading me down the hallway, towards the middle from the entrance. "Watch out, this redhead has a temper."

...

"Hiya Poison Oakey! The name's Harley-"

"Ivy. Posion _Ivy_!"

I shrug. "Sorry."

"Harley Quinn. I've heard your name here and there."

"_Have you_?" The thought of the Joker talking about me to other patients, showing me off as if I was his girl, it sends chills down my spine. The good kind. "Has Mistah J said anything about me?" Ivy lifts an eyebrow. "The Joker!"

"Oh wait. You're that crazy new doctor of his, aren't you? They say you've gone soft for him. Pity."

A giddy squeal leaves me. "Has he said anything? Has he?"

"Maybe. I tend to tune him out." She sighs. "It's a shame a girl like you was duped so easy. You seemed so smart."

"But my puddin' cares for me, really!" _How do they not see it? He's such a lovin' guy! _

"Uh-huh, right. A guy like him? Sure." Her sarcasm stings. Maybe it's time to switch the subject.

"Sooo, what are you in here for? Stealin' roses?" A laugh evolves into a sudden gasp, as I realize now. _That's where he got it from!_

"_What_?"

"Mistah J. . . Gave me a rose. ."

An angry glare flashes onto her face, like a thorny flower. "_Where is it? It's mine! That lousy clown took it from me! Stole my baby right from me! I must have it back_!"

"Sheesh, it's just a piece of garden," I say. "You could just plant another one."

Ivy's pale green face quickly paints itself to match her hair. "_Just a piece of garden? Plant_ another _one_?" She shrieks, throwing her mint green arms in the air.

Guards, who take longer to notice than you'd think, come in. Each of Ivy's arms is being held back by a strong burly hand. "Cool it, red." I am unfamiliar to this guard. He smiles. "Sorry, Dr. Quinzel. We'll get her out of here."

...

Every turn I make on this stretch home, I peak in every direction except the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of purple or green. "Where are you!?"

I fumble with the radio, hoping maybe a news report will be on and broadcasting something about the Joker's whereabouts. "-I'm Jack Ryder, have a good evening folks. Keep those doors locked." _Crap! I just missed it_! This is more than frustrating. I have so much hope bubbling up, I just want to roll down the window and yell out to my puddin'. No. . . I'm not that crazy for him. Not yet, I don't think.

The knob on my radio is probably just as tired as I am, and I give up, landing on a familiar voice. My throat tightens as a I hear a classic, it's lyrics taking a minute to _really_ register.

_You may be right,  
I may be crazy.  
But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for!_

I picture Mr. J strapped in his chair, singing the tune. Maybe even whistling it, as he does so often. . .

_Turn out the lights,  
Don't try to save me.  
You may be wrong,  
For all I know you may be right. _

I giggle at the thought of Mr. J singing to me. If any of 'em, this one is perfect.

_Remember how I found you there?  
Alone, in your electric chair?  
I told you dirty jokes until you smiled. (That sounds like you puddin'. . . )  
You were lonely for a man,  
I said take me as I am.  
Cause you might enjoy some madness for a while. _

I place my thumb on the dial. Not knowing whether to shut if off or turn it up. . .

_I think of all the years you tried to find someone to satisfy you.  
I might be as crazy as you say,  
If I'm crazy then it's true,  
That it's all because of you,  
And you wouldn't want me any other way._

I find my way to my driveway and shut it off before it has the chance to finish the song. "I'm going crazy. I know I am," I look up at my small apartment with it's cluttered floors awaiting me. Ugh, I still have those dang bills to pick up. "But I can't afford to go crazy. . ."

I trudge up the steps and clang open the door. . . _Is this some kind of joke. . . Where is all the crap!?_ "Oh my God, someone broke in. . . " I am about to run through the house in horror to see what was stolen. The bills that were on the floor are no longer there. My floors have been licked clean of my belongings. "_Who the hell_-"

My heart skips a beat and I run to my bedroom to look upon the photo of my clown. _I know you did this puddin'_. I can't help but smile like a child struck with puppy love. _He was here. . . _

But. . . The photo of my prince is now gone. Tac and everything. "Puddin'? Why would you take that. . . " I sulk, scuffing out of my room and out towards my kitchen, that is now spotless. A foggy pile is ahead, stacked on top of my countertop. My fingers graze the edge as I peek closer. The bills. But. . .

I look around to see any other of my things that may have found a new home around here. Nothing looks out of the ordinary in the living room. . . I run down the hall and into my office. Which also remains untouched. Nothing in my cabinets, no missing books- _not that I would have missed them_. Hm. This is odd. What are you up to Mr. J?

I make my way back to my fridge to grab a drink, swish some ideas around, get my juices flowing. Taking a sip I shut the door and I know. It's right there in front of me.

"You're welcome- Jack White."

...

Ivy is an exciting patient, it was great to see her so angry that day. And I am still allowed to see her despite this. Although she may have somethin' to pick with with Mr. J, I still like her.

I sip my coffee in my office, skimming through the important pieces of her file. I giggle, seeing a picture of a victim of hers. Dead eyes, blank face, and a green painted kiss on the cheek. Clever.

"Dr. Quinzel?" A voice says through a speaker.

"Yes?"

"You are needed on the first floor- it's urgent!"

"A-alright. I'll be right down." Dashing through the door, I scurry to the elevator. I'm out and rushing into the first floor as fast as these blessed heels will allow. Probably another breakout.

A man rushes past me towards the entrance. "-They've got him!" I hear him say.

_Him? Mr. J?!-_ I'm flying past these people now, screw the heels. Some are shoved, even elbowed, I don't care. All I can see are pointy black ears, and I will get to them. _Oh, I will get to them. _

The last person is knocked back nearly a foot, causing an even bigger commotion, I don't even spare a breath on an apology. Because all my breath is being sucked in, as I gasp at my bloody angel, being dragged in by this monster. I fight back tears that threaten to break me, as the black gloved hand drops him, falling into my trembling arms. I see a tear fall; quickly it dampens his battered shoulder. A clumsy, disoriented smile is on his face, his teeth speckled with blood. My left hand, shakily cradles his green mess of matted hair. It's surprisingly soft to the touch, considering it has been permanently dyed by a vat of chemicals. I cringe when my skin quickly moistens as I stroke an area at an attempt of comfort, my flesh red with his blood.

_He did this. The so called "hero" of Gotham. That flying rat!_ My loving comfort is rooted with a new feeling of disgust and raw anger, spreading throughout my body with this overgrowth of hostility. Like a bad mold. My face, wet with tears lifts to his dark, expressionless gaze. And I have nothing but hate for this man.

Mr. J groans and I feel him being pulled from underneath my protective arms. A doctor has him by both of his shoulders, dragging him away. His incoherent smile blankly stares at me, his eyes unmatched. He is unaware of his circumstances. I need to be there. When he comes to, I need to be the person he sees. "_Nooooooooooooo!_" I yell, arms reaching out, trying to snatch one of his legs and pull him back before he's gone, but I am incapable.

I lift my body from my knees to my feet, arranging myself to face the bat. His expression is that of shock, as my rage slowly feeds on every emotion left inside. "_You did this. Get out! Leave_!"

...

I am standing in front of the door, acting on anything. Small hope urges me to keep trying at the doorknob, but it stays locked despite my efforts. "Dr. Quinzel, please!" Another fellow associate from medical is saying. He tugs at my arm. "Try to contain yourself!"

"I just want in. I have to see him, let me see him."

His expression is perplexed and concerned. "Harleen, I am not authorized to do that. You are just going to have to wait. He will be cared for and brought back to his cell to rest. In the meantime, I advise you to stay busy." He pauses and lifts a brow. "Somewhere else."

"Fine." I am in no form to speak to either of these jerks. They better take good care of my puddin'.

**The Actual 15th Session**

I am more than ready to see my puddin', extra bandages in my bag, and had even snuck in a couple squirting flowers and whoopee cushions, which make him giggle like a child. He still has a sad plea in his eyes that remind me of a fallen angel. The poor thing. He opens his mouth to peep something small, but withdraws back into his seat. "What is it, Mistah J? You can tell me." I reach a hand to his, which are shockingly smooth despite his brawling.

"I know, kiddo, I know. You're quite the listener, aren't you?" I smile and nod.

"Go ahead." He covers a small glare I find in his face. He doesn't like my pushing. But even so, he gives me a smile anyway.

"Harley, poo bear, I'd like to just say, you've been the highlight of this horrid place. I appreciate your struggles. They don't go unnoticed." He nods to the squirting flower that is pinned through his Arkham clothing as a joking replacement of his original one. Warmth pinches at my flesh as I try to seem unphased by his words. Oh, _who am I kidding? I think we're past that. _

"_Oh_! That reminds me, Mistah J!" I pull out the Jack playing card from my pocket and slide it across the table. "Thought you might like this!" He picks up the card, examining it closely.

"I believe I was missing this from my _own_ deck. Thanks toots!" He tucks it away under his clothing.

As much as I try to block it out, Billy Joel remains in my head. Every verse is a joke, and I'm the punch line, as I stare at my clown longingly. I think to myself if Mr. J likes Billy Joel. . . Hmmm. . .

"So, I heard you were given someone else?" A grudging tone bites through his words. I will bring it up another time. . .

"It wasn't my idea, Mistah J, but she doesn't seem so bad. Just a little crazy, but," I giggle. "Who didn't see that coming?"

"_She_?" The Joker lifts an unpleasant eyebrow.

"Yeah, Red and I got off to a bad start but-"

Mr. J gasps dramatically. "_Ivy!? Noooo, not the plant lady!_"

"What's wrong with Red?" I don't understand the dispute between these two, but I actually like Ivy. She has character and class. I don't want her and puddin' killin' each other.

The Joker cackles. "A million things and counting." He grimaces.

I shrug. "Well, we have another session in a few days. . ." I pause. "You don't mind, do you puddin'. . . ?"

He lifts a hand, gesturing as he speaks, but before words come out, the hand abruptly drops. "What was that pooh?"

"You don't mind, do you?" I ask again. He smiles and stands up so fast, I flinch a little in my seat. His energy is cautioning, as it lingers closer with each step. The corners of his mouth upturn into a sidistic, yet adorable grin. The characteristic shadows that make the Joker become darker expand until they are casting not only on him, but me as well; the darkness swallows us whole. His strong, pale hand grabs hold of my chin.

"Get up."

"S-sure thing, Mistah J." I feel stupid for stuttering, but how I could I not? He was as intimidating as hell. . . But oh, was it just as attractive. Seeing as how he is not wearing his usual purple gloves, I try my best to not allow my face to flush. It doesn't work, as I feel my skin burn against his own. His grip forces me up, still a bit short even standing up to him, he has to peer down.

He then laughs, sending rattles through his fingers and shaking my own face with his in a similar movement. The laughter isn't the laugh I'm used to, it's the one I hear on T.V., not the cute giggles I hear in our sessions. His dark eyes find my own as the laughter dies. "No, Harley. Your puddin' doesn't mind."


	5. Chapter 5

**Session 18 (Joker's P.O.V.)**

The putrid substance before me, a sad attempt to replace real food, quickly decreases to room temperature as it stay untouched. I'm sure even Stonegate does a better job than Arkham. Next time I decide to skip out, I may pay the cooks a visit. The so called "professionals" behind the glass refuse to leave until I have made at least a gesture to swallow this down. The joke is on them, I can play this game too. "I'd be much more willing to if I had someone to share it with!" I gesture my fork, the stale "food" beginning to ooze to the plate below. "Care to join?"

I receive a tired sigh, muffled from behind the translucent wall. "I will ask you one more time, patient 4479, please. Take at least a few bites. It is mandatory to make sure our patients have a healthy diet, if one at all."

Ignoring the white coats, I break off the middle prongs of my plastic utensil, giggling to myself. One of the doctors quickly reacts, jerking forward to send in the guards. The pieces fall to my lap, and I swipe them off. I see the troubled doctor retreat much more calmly, but still on alert, as I raise the fork and dance it around. "It's Batsy!"

A disappointed shake of the head and a nod is what I'm left with, as the doctors leave. The guards trudge in to dispose of my meal and bring me to the session room to wait for my appointment. My appointment with a woman who is so niave and trusting that she is already wrapped around my, The Joker's, finger. A whisper of a chortle leaves me, setting the guards on edge quite fast.

Their hold on me grows tighter, as if the knowing my pale skin is promised with purple gives them a sort of comfort. It only strengthens the laughter that shakes me, creating a more troublesome attempt to strain me. A firm hand shoves me through the opening of the doors. "Get in there, clown, and stay quiet!"

"Only if you promise me some females!" The door slams behind me and I'm left alone again. But I can see their expressions as if I painted them on myself. Annoyed, and agitated, but fake looks of control as they hide the slight fear that trails their spine, yet they would never admit of it's being there. I hear the faintest of clicks that progress with each ticking second. The fear is now erased from their minds, I know. Because Harley's here.

"Hiya, Mistah J! Miss me?"

Hands folded, shoulders straight, I turn my head to watch her take her seat, my smile not fading. "But of course, Harls." She replaces her mug with a new one, tossing the empty mug from her lips with it's last sip. "I assume you missed me."

"Why is that?" Her head tilts in a way I can't place is annoying or pleasant. . .

"Because you didn't sleep last night," I say, eyeing her second coffee. "Why is _that_?"

Harley attempted to cover up the faint purple hammocks that compliment her blues, they remind me of the bruising of a beautiful black eye. But even she can't deny the foggy look in her eye as she flutters her lids to stay awake. "U-uhh. . ." Harley stammers, dumbfounded. "It's just coffee, Mistah J."

"I can smell the extra sugar, Harls." I can't help but laugh at her being caught. "What was getting at you last night?"

"I. . . -"

"Go on, Harley." I scooch to the edge of my seat, clucking my tongue with impatience. I give her a sweet smile to encourage her to spill her thoughts although I can already guess what they are. She sighs and continues.

"I can't. . . I can't stop thinking about you." Her eyes waver from side to side as she studies the table in front of us, as if it held the answers to my own reactions. The quivering is brought to my own face as she trembles with the fear of my rejection. "It's childish, I know. . . But. . ." She searches for my face again. "I can't."

"Aww, Harley. Why were you so nervous to tell me that?"

She smiles a bit more comfortably now. "Well, you _are_ my favorite patient, Mistah J."

"Isn't that the dream," I joke. "I've always wanted to be a favorite patient." Harley sighs and looks at me with sad kitten eyes. "Harley, can I tell you a secret?"

"You can tell me anything!"

"Good." I smile and lean forward to touch her hand. A spark in her eyes lights at the recognition of my skin against hers. "Do you mind coming closer to me. . .? I would feel much more comfortable. . ." I sway a worried glance to the door.

"Oh. . Of course," she whispers. She leaves her chair and crouches by my side. I can sense a bit of debate on how close she dares to be next to me. I know she wants to be closer. That's why her face wavers more near and then far, very subtle, but still I notice.

"Harley. . ." I whisper. "I have to tell you . . -"

Harley's, much smaller lips, have smothered me with the glossy texture that coats them, tasting of strawberries. She has waited too long for this, she will take her time, I'm sure of it. The way she's looked at me since day one. Dressed to see me. Talked to me, even. I could hear it in that sweet little Brooklyn voice of hers. She wanted this clown to herself. A small hand rifles through my hair, as I feel it's usual hold start to loosen. Someone better get me a comb after this.

Breathless, she pulls away, shocked by her own actions. I simply just smile in return as she collects herself. She is still only a nose touch away. As she realizes this, she quickly stands up, composing herself, and takes a step back. "I'm sorry. . . "

"Well, you must be feeling more awake!" I cackle. She smiles, and fixes a piece of her bangs that has fallen to her face. "I think you would look much better-" I reach out an arm and whip the elastic from her hair before she has time to react. Her hair falls around her face. "-like this!" Her hair is unexpectedly wavy. She hurried back to her seat, checking the time.

"What were you going to tell me, Mistah J?"

"I have seemed to forgotten. Nevermind it, toots." I looks towards the door. "Looks like our time is up."

Suddenly, Harley shoots from her chair. "Wait!" She shouts out the door. "Hold on, just a minute! We aren't done yet, just one more sec!"

I give her an odd look. "Uh. . . What are you up to, Harls?"

"The rose. Ivy wants it back. Can you give it to me during our next session?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, toots." I finish strapping myself in, my grin I can feel grow larger. I peer up at her. "I don't know where it is."

Harley tosses her head frantically at the door, making sure they aren't coming in quite yet. She quickly runs to my side, and pushes her lips against mine one last time. "Please. . . "

Again, it grows larger. "Sorry, Harl, I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's gone."

**Ivy's Second Session** (Harley's .)

My mind is foggy with the lipped event that occurred between my patient and I. I was dumb for it, of course, but I would kiss him a third time, given the chance. Those famous ruby lips, unstretch themselves to fit against my own pink pucker. It was a perfect meet. Through out my life, never has a kiss left me so. . .dazed. I feel drunk. To sober up my mind a bit, I snap myself back to where I am.

Currently I am sitting inside me and Ivy's session room, waiting for her arrival. Well. Poison Ivy. Or Pam. Or Pamela. Or patient 35..- whatever her number is. Too many names to remember in this place! I tap my fingers to a tune that sounds so familiar. . . But I have yet to place it.

That kiss. . . Ugh, I knew a girl could dream. But _wow_. I know what I'm gunna be dreamin' tonight! . . .If I sleep, that is.

The door buzzes and in comes Red, looking. . . - happy? "Hello," I greet her, as professional as I can muster. The guards strap her in, wearing gloves, as touching Ivy, as I read, is very deadly. They quickly retreat after she is strained. They give me a polite nod and leave us be. "Okay, what's goin' on, Red? Why do ya look so happy?"

"I know your secret," she threatens. She leans in. "I know what you did." Ivy's bright green eyes dazzle with knowledge, but I am left confused. Her poisonous lips curl into a devious smile.

"What. . . ? What are you talkin' about?"

She laughs. "Think _real_ hard, doctor."

Of course there are plenty of things I'm considering at the moment. Many things I have tried to keep on the "down-low." But what could she possibly know? I haven't gotten caught yet. And she even said that her and Joker don't talk to each other. Or, rather she doesn't respond to anything he says to her. "Ya got me. What is it?"

Her peach tinted lips unseal as she laughs at me. "Harley, is it?"

"Yup!"

Ivy has a look of wonder as her smile grows more devious. "Have you heard of my kiss of death Harley? You must have, you have seemed to adopt it for yourself. You see, . . . I know you kissed the Joker. And I also know that soon enough I will not be the only one to know. You'll be the talk of the town very shortly. I can see the headline now 'Daffy Doc Kisses Psycho.' You'll be famous, my darling."

My skin crawls as it drops to freezing temperature. I can do nothing but stare at her in disbelief as I choke on the limited air I feel I am supplied with. How does she know!? "I- I. . . Please don't tell. . . Please."

"Oh, I won't need to. Guess you never saw the video cameras, did you?" She smiles. "That's a shame. I do have to thank you in advance for livening this place up, though. Aside from these crazies, this is the most drama Arkham has seen in years, or _will_ see anyway."

My hands are sweating so much that I can't grip the chair anymore. My head is spinning. Joan. . . Does she know? Does everyone know? . . . Will I see J again? "_Please_, Red. _Where _are those tapes?! I need ya help! I can't let this get out! I'll neveh see him again!"

Ivy chuckles. "Oh, Harley, don't be so dramatic. He breaks out more than anyone else here, I'm sure you'd see him again." My expression pleads with her. I am begging. "Alright, alright, I'll help you. I know where they keep the tapes. I also know they only check them ever so rarely, unless of course, they feel something is up. And in your case, that clown is the most manipulative man any doctor has ever known. So they might check your tapes a little more frequently than others to make sure you're still sane." She checks her pale green nails nonchalantly. Her eyes revert to her shackles and scoffs in disgust. "I'll make you a little deal, darling. I'll destroy the evidence of you and that psycho- _if_-"

I clasp my hands together. "I will do anythin', Red. Anything! Just say the word, and you got it!"

"You get me that rose back from that clown."

. . . _Damn_.

...

_What am I going to do!?_ I think to myself, subcontiously turning up Billy Joel a little louder. It leaves me with a comfort that is close to the same feeling that Mr. J's presence is with me. _Puddin' doesn't have the rose anymore. . . He said he lost it. If I buy a new one, she'll know. I know she'll know. . . _

Devastated, defeated, and clueless, I am left with no solution but to let Ivy down. Ultimately resulting in me getting canned. This is it. . . The moment I've been dreading all along. To finally be exposed to my boss, to my family, to the media. Everyone will know I was the doctor who failed. I was the doctor who fell in love with her patient.

The most dreaded man in Gotham.

My spotless apartment leaves me disgusted and enraged. This isn't me. I open up my suitcase, and thoughtlessly dump it's contents onto the floor, kicking papers around as I walk through it. What's the point. Most of my notes consist of doodles of me and the Joker with hearts. And what _is _valid for observation is going to be tossed along with my name tag anyhow. I yell curses at Jack White for ever cleaning the place up.

I laugh at myself. I'm laughing hysterically, _crying _even. And I'm not sure why. It's just all a joke.

My bed isn't even comfortable to me. The covers are swallowing me whole, as I seep into the darkness that engulfs my vision. No more Ivy. . . No more Joker. . .

...

I peel my eyes open to complete darkness. I can't breathe. . . I. . .- _I can't breathe_. I struggle to obtain air that is growing thin. _Where am I? Is this what death feels like?_ I flail my arms up, a cooler air touches my skin and suddenly I am flooded with air. I suck it down selfishly until I am calm. I push myself from the mattress, realizing now that I need to sleep with covers away from my face- depressed or not. I scan my bedside table to read that it is twenty past 2AM. Groaning, I stumble out of bed and find the light switch.

Fuzzy socks pad my feet into the kitchen to get a bowl of ice cream. The TV sounds like a good idea for a while, but I can't focus after fifteen minutes. My mind is offended by thoughts of Joker's disappointed face shaking side to side, tsking at me from behind glass as I am being kicked out the door. "Should've been more careful, toots." Ivy also sighs her disapproval. "Such a waste. . ."

Angry, I slam my bowl down onto the coffe table, the spoon twirling around the inside of the rim. "This can't happen!" I hold my head in my hands and think of everything and nothing at the same time. "This is too much. . ."

A faint flutter of paper sounds and suddenly I hear a "pat" as something touches the floor. My head jerks up with notice, as I search the living room for an explanation. A white fold of paper is sitting in front of the island that separates my kitchen and living room. "If this is that damn Jack guy. . ." I unfold the note.

_Be my flower girl- Jack White._

"Whatever, cree-" Mercy meets me before I'm allowed to finish. Because Jack White has left me with the winning prize. The answer to all my problems.

I rip the tape from the stem that holds it to the front door, being careful not to damage it's delicate thorns. I place it against my nose and inhale, and it smells just as I had hoped. Like victory.

**Session 19 **(Joker's P.O.V.)

_I am a perfect example of "white heat"! _I laugh to myself, as the anger swells like a spider bite. I love how characteristic I am, I mean _heck, _I can even crack a joke when I'm pissed and still laugh! What a card, right? I thought so.

I feel the pulsating rage thump through my brow, as it casts thick shadows upon my vision. "Come again?" My voice catches in a sinister growl that makes him flinch, but he thinks he's protected. He stands his grounds.

"Sorry, Joker. The deal is off. You promised me payment- and you haven't delivered. Mo didn't give me my share this week. I'm done risking my ass for you." He folds his arms in front of his chest. He thinks it makes him seem firm and confident. But really I can see it's so I won't notice the slight quiver that courses through both arms when they are left dangling.

Furious, I slam the glass in front of us. "You will do as I say. You will get your money. I will deal with the boys later, until then _you do as I tell you or so help me-_"

"You'll what? You're locked up in here, bozo. Nothin' you can do."

_I love how he lies to himself out loud to comfort the thought that is _really _swimming through that teensy brain of his. That I _do _escape. That I can do it without him just as easy. And when I do. . . _I giggle. "You know just as well as I do, that this is a mere resting place until I'm ready to go." He takes a step back as I speak, sending chuckles his way. "And when I'm out, how's about you and me go for a coffee, eh?"

The guard shutters and clears his throat. "Alright, alright, fine."

"Now go get me my _damn paper_. I have one last letter to write."

After fumbling to find the words to apologize to me for his disobey, Rick quickly flees to perform his next task.

...

Stumbling through the doors of the Recreation room, I am greeted with the usual image. Ivy has planted herself onto the couch, watching some fruity show about tending to your flowers or what have you (typical, I know.) Jervis is playing some card game with Eddy, as he enlightens Hatter in a riddle or two, growing bored when Jervis simply ignores them. I shuffle over to the television to switch the current educational bore to a more comic classic, my personal favorite, the Looney Tunes.

But something has caught my eye. A sweet pair of legs, that belong to none other than my little Harley. _Harley? What is she doing here? _A seductive sneer has washed over her face, as she saunters over. Each step is a bit taunting, I must admit, but although I have thought of her as attractive, never have I really thought of her in such a way. It seems the tables have turned. "Hello, Joker." _Wow. _Even her voice is simply-. . .

_Fake! _Her clicking heels slowly turn into a sickly brown as they morph and mold themselves, stretching to the lengths of those legs and her full body until she is mush. A loud, irritating laugh erupts and I begin to realize, not only is he laughing, but they all are. "Don't you _dare _laugh at _me_!" But I scan the room to see I am unheard.

"You and clay otta get a room," the wooden puppet jokes. Having nothing to throw, I lunge at Wesker and his toy.

"_Shut your mouth_!"

The guards are now awake and startled by the feud, standing up from their posts. "I didn't say it! It was Scarface!" Arnold pleads as his feet dangle over the floor, my fist full with his shirt.

"Tell your doll to keep his mouth shut, or he won't have a jaw," I growl, tossing him into Clayface. The result is a bit messy, as Clayface isn't quick enough to dodge the Ventriloquist and his puppet. The rest of the rogues have grown silent, eyeing me as I willingly walk over to the guards with a satisfied grin. I am cuffed and escorted toward the doors. Before I am out of sight, I address the speechless villains. "To make myself quite clear, Miss Harleen is just another pawn on the board."

...

"Harley, I'm a bit disappointed. Considering our last session, I more than expected you to be in my lap." I don't know if it's just me, but it seems every time I see my little Harls, her blouse becomes more and more revealing. _Come on Harley, you've got to stop this. I'm restricted to a cell in an asylum and a straight jacket. _I'm debating on whether or not it's working until she struts over and sits herself down on my lap, where I have a more close up view.

"Whoops. . . Sorry, Mistah J," she teases.

Damn it, it's working. _No. _She _isn't supposed to make me want her. It's supposed to be the other way around. Control. _This broad does not have a single _ounce _of dominance, because it's all _yours. Remember that and everything fall in place. _

I slither my hand onto her thigh. You may be good at this game, toots, but I play it better. "Then again, not so sure that's a good place for you to be." She looks offended as I push her off, but it's quickly erased when she understands it's meaning.

"Mistah _J!" _She exclaims, blushing. I give her a wink, sending her back to her seat.

Again, my focuses have seem to drift to other matters, as she sits directly across from me. This only frustrates me, because this is never an issue, never an obstacle I have to overcome. It's always just is what it is. But Harley has done something to the process of things and I'm not quite sure what.

Angrily, I begin to force these thoughts out by replacing these fantasies of Harley with other ones. A violet speckled neck, sporting a crimson, wet, handmade grin. I giggle at the thought of my girl growing pale and begging.

"-Mistah J?"

Coming to, I see Harley looks a bit worried. Perhaps my facial expressions painted my thoughts. "Yes?"

"Did you know about. . . About the cameras?"

"Why of course I did, cupcake," I chuckle. Her brow furrows at my response, my little pumpkin pie grows red in the face. I see debate in her eyes as she questions whether or not she should speak up at my rash decisions to leave her "out of the loop," so to speak.

"What!? _Mistah J_, you just might get me canned!" Her tiny hands fly through the air.

"I just might," I giggle.

Harley darts from her chair, knocking it over. "Do you not _care_?! Do you not understand how important this is to me? How important _you are _to me!? I_ need_-"

"Shut up, Harley! _Sit down," _I order. My tone is frosty and startles her, as tears well to her eyes. She fumbles, foolishly positioning the chair back behind her and trembles into it's hold. "If you know what's good for you, _never _talk to me like that again. In case you forgot who you're talking to, most of my past "Docs" are having trouble squeezing into the dirt. But I can make more fit." I begin to chuckle. "Oh, I can certainly pack more in." The tears swallow her cheeks and dump onto the table for more to roll.

"I'm s-sorry M-Mistah J. . ." she whispers.

"Cheer up, Harls. You haven't been fired _yet_!"

Harley's face is washed with smoky grey tears, creating raccoon-like rings under her eyes. She looks weak and vulnerable, because she _is. _It's pathetic, yet satisfying, almost beautiful. She looks tired with confusion and frightened with love for me. Smiling, I stand before her and embrace her into a hug. Her heart thumps faster for me, and I grin at my very control I have in just her everyday body function. I pull away to see she's, surprisingly, wearing a large grin, and I am left puzzled. Did I _not _just threaten this woman with death? "I love you, Puddin'."


	6. Chapter 6

**Ivy's Third Session** (Harley's P.O.V.)

Sweeping myself inside the institution, I see Dan and Rick in a secluded and darkened area of the asylum. I suggest myself to greet them, but noticed their hushed tones and decide to act unnoticed. As stealthy as I can manage, I nudge myself close by enough to hear their whispers. I'm tired of being so left out here, I want in the loop.

"Somethin's up, I know it," Dan speaks.

"Stay outta this. Don't get Joan involved, you don't know-"

"I know somethin' is up between her and that clown. And I'm gunna find out what. It'll take a day or two for the film to process, but I'm sure her recent tapes will show me what I'm lookin' for."

I peel away from the wall in horror. _No!_ Ivy needs to get me those tapes _now_.

Before I step away from my newest fear, I catch a bit of Rick, his voice has now doubled in hostility, although I'm unable to hear what is being said. A firm pat of skin against wall is heard, a shuffle of feet and struggling quickly after. A smack against the floor and a moment of scratching is questionable, as I ease back into the wall to hear better. A door clicks quietly into place.

Holding my breathe, I scurry a good two feet ahead as I hear someone coming. "Oh, hello Harley- uh, Dr. Quinzel." And on passes Rick.

"Hey Rick. . Where's Dan? Did he come in today?" My heart flutters anxiously as he lies through his teeth.

"Don't think so."

...

I am extremely early and pass the time walking up and down the halls, thinking of how I am going to securely sneak Red's plant in without damaging it. She'd have my head for sure if anything happened to it. The poor rose was so delicate, I was afraid of sneaking it in my bra, the traditional way, would crush the petals. Not to mention it would hurt like hell, having those sharp thorns poking at my flesh.

Thoughtlessly, I end up in the elevator, and by reflex, I take myself down to the Rogue's gallery. The occasional threat or shriek is so normal to my ears now that I barely even notice. I pace, nibbling at the tips of my plum painted fingernails. Perhaps a visit to Mr. J will calm my nerves. He might even have a solution to sneak in the rose! Happily, I skip down to the end of the hall.

To my disappointment, his cell is without his presence. My giddy feeling of hope quickly descends to nothing as I realize I am on my own on this one. _Wonder where Puddin' is. . . _

I begin back down the hall when a voice stops me. Surprised, I realize the voice is for me, and I turn to address it. A slightly familiar over-bite grin comes into view from the darkness, the blonde hair is a bright gold when the light finds his face. "Come to express your fury to your clown? Too bad he isn't in at the moment."

"'Scuse me?" The Mad Hatter slightly chuckles at my confusion.

"Have you not heard yet, miss? Sadly, you've been taken for a fool. He had quite the things to say about you." He pauses for effect, I urge him to go on. "Said you were apart of his little game, just along for the ride, I'm afraid."

"N-. . . No! Mistah J would neveh-!" Angrily, I grit my teeth. "You're just jealous cause you have more relationship problems than even me and Mistah J do!"

Hatter has grown extremely angry and shoots me a most threatening glare. Probably isn't wise to pick fights with the most notorious of crazy, but hey. I need to defend what me and Puddin' have. I know it's real. Jervis goes to spout off negative comments to me, but is interrupted by a familiar rhythmic tone. "He's right, Harley."

I spin on my heel to face Ivy. "_What_?"

She sighs and shakes her head solemnly. "To be honest, I actually _like_ you, Harley. And I am genuine when I say that I feel sorry for you. What Techt says is true." She gives me a dull expression of pity. "I was there."

Mr. J. . . _Said I was apart of his game. . . ?_ Hatter I wouldn't have ever trusted, but I don't believe Ivy to lie. She is too straight forward to ever do so to me. I think we're almost becoming friends. I have nothing to say to the red head and ignore Jervis, who is muttering incoherent phrases to himself, every now and then hearing "Alice" within his soft-grumbling rant. Ivy puffs a sigh at my silence. "That's a typical man for you, honey," she says, referring to Mr. J.

...

"Here's ya rose," I say, exchanging the plant with Red. I had snuck the rose underneath the sleeve of my slightly large white coat. Less creative than the bra, but it worked for me. Ivy delicately places nurturing hands, cupping the flower and tags a spot for it on her lap, where the cameras cannot see.

"I'm surprised you gave it to me, I expected a fake, given your ridiculous infatuation with that mad man."

I bite my lip nervously. She knows. That must be sarcasm. I might as well spill my guts before she roasts me. "I'm sorry, Red! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me, Mistah J doesn't know where yours is! I gave you a different one!" I am gasping and biting and who knows what else, probably sweating. "I'm sorry!"

Ivy laughs, to my surprise. "Oh, but Harley, my darling is right here." She gestures a hand to Jack's drop-off rose.

"Someone else gave me that rose. . . Someone I don't know."

"Well, it must be someone your maniac lover-boy knows, cause this is my rose." Her term 'lover-boy' stings a little, remembering Hatter and Ivy's talk with me earlier. "I have a certain rhythm with the soils chemistry with the seed, creating a particular pattern to the development of the thorns and the specifications of the way they grow. Ultimately foiling into the perfect flower, the petals in impeccable folds." With a small but swift movement, the stem grows along her finger as she speaks. She looks up and grins. "See?"

I don't understand. . .

Then. . . Who is Jack White. .?

"What _is_ that dreadful noise?" Ivy spits, breaking my thoughts. I stretch my neck in an effort to hear. Small, but sharp, fragments of tune reach my ears. It's becoming more and more effortless to hear, but I am still unsure. . .

I know. Only a red-lipped grin whistles that tune. It must be a good day.

"So, if you say you didn't get the rose from the Joker, who _did_ you get it from?"

I gnaw my lip in stressful thought. "I'm not so sure. . . " Thoughtlessly, I check the time. "We're almost out. You gunna snatch those tapes for me, Red?"

Ivy's pale minty flesh illuminates in such a way under the light. It contorts her face in a way I can't quite peg. "You're going to have to do one last thing for me before I can do that."

_What!? We made a deal!_ I am in no mood to argue however. The love for my Puddin' has left a sick pit within the walls of my stomach, threatening to do me in for the day. "What do I have to do now?"

Ivy points to the bottom of the stem. "See this? I have control of it's growth, yes, but not enough. It's been uprooted, the poor dear, it will need a steroid of a sort to be strong enough to break me out of here."

I am confused as to what she is asking of me. "What am I supposed to do?"

Ivy's peach lips curl into a smile. "You're gunna have to go to Stonegate Penitentiary."

_Stonegate_? "Why? What kinda steroids ya gunna find in a prison?"

Ivy motions a hand over her arm and flexes. "You're gunna have to make a deal with him."

_Uh-oh. . . _

Bane.

**Session 20** (Joker's P.O.V.)

She barely acknowledges my presence. This is new. Even the slight laughs at my jokes are a bit forced. . . No, no, this won't do. "Not funny, Harls?" She stares ahead of her, looking at nothing in particular. "Pooh?"

Her spiritless gaze does not sway or break, her response almost robotic. "Yes, Mr. Joker?"

I am taken back by the sudden term. My neutral expression downcasts into a displeased frown. "Back to basics, I see, _Doc_. . ." Harley only continues to stare through me with those blues that are anything but soft today. They don't even have a glint of confusion in them. They are utterly emotionless. "Did I do something wrong, Harl? You've been unpredictably quiet." Harley says nothing and carelessly takes out her pencil, almost tiredly. "Not have your caffeine yet, toots?"

She ignores me and pulls out her note sheet. "So, anything you'd like to talk about, Mr. Joker?" Before I have time to comment on her odd professionalism, she tosses her notebook behind her. "No? Okay."

Rage boils my blood and I am itching to slap her, show her who she's dealing with. But I force myself to stay put in my seat. I can feel my watchful glower pierce through her, but she remains nonchalant. _This broad was practically begging for your affection and suddenly she is giving you attitude?_ This is completely unacceptable, but clearly it's because she's pissed at me. So I need to squeeze out some charm before I straighten her out. "Harley, pumpkin, tell daddy what's wrong?" I pat my thigh, inviting her over.

Shockingly, she even dismisses this. She instead, plays with her nails, chipping the lacquer off, then blowing it around the table, resembling the violet flakes of vegetation swept by wind in Autumn. Her cheek sags over her knuckles, bored, as she sighs and begins to stare at nothing.

As the moments pass me by without a single word, I begin to notice something off. Something Harley _never_ does. She is refusing to look at me. Harley is so unprofessional in her games of staring, that it's almost pathetic. I always catch her gloating, her famous sweet blues, and a seductive simper. But I am annoyingly shunned by my dame. I dust off a theatrical sigh and sad eyes as I pout at her. "Harley, sweets, I can't help if you neglect me this way." I growl under my breath when she doesn't even peek. "Harley, _look at me_."

Harley reluctantly faces me. I soften my jaw and try my best at sapping her up a little bit more, now that I have her attention. I stand sluggishly, opening my arms for her. "You win, kiddo. Daddy's sorry, 'Kay?"

A few tears flow from her glassy eyes, passing her cheeks and absorb into her skirt as they fall from her chin. She stumbles slowly from her chair and finds her place in my arms, but it doesn't have Harley's normal passion and warmth it usually does. She doesn't even tighten her arms around me. No, she softly stands closely to me, then pulls away more quickly than I would've betted my money on. I grab her arm before she leaves and I force her to sit as I tower over my blonde. I try once more a sweet approach before "kicking the puppy," so to speak. I tickle her chin and cradle her face in my pale hand. "Did someone hurt you, Harl?" The question sounds odd to my own ears, as I notice I am missing a mental filter that hasn't caught an emotion that has swept into my voice. Hot rage. Frankly, I never really needed a filter. This is new. Images of my gloved fingers, squeezing the last of life out of this unknown prick who thinks they can harass Harley, _that's my job_.

Harley sniffles, breaking my thoughts and wipes another intrusive tear. "You did."

...

"Think you can handle the recreation room, this time? I mean it, no funny business," the Warden is asking me. I pick off a piece of lint from my Arkham issued shirt as I giggle at the man.

"But funny is my _only_ business," I retort. I receive only a sigh, as I am escorted by two big brutes and a doctor to the "playroom."

"_Please_ behave this time, Jok- uh, patient 447-"

"_Patient 4479_, blah blah blah, I know, I know. Sheesh!" With an eye roll and one last sigh of a doctor-given-up, she lets me inside.

The bland atmosphere is harshly intruded with my supreme, infamous presence, cackling with my entrance. "Lovely to see you all again, and in such a pleasant mood, might I add!" Ivy grimaces and returns back to her program. Johnathon and Jervis are currently playing a round of chess, and revert back to their pawns. "_Oooh_! I _love_ chess!" I seat myself, meddling with a few pieces. I thumb the horse into my palm and gallop it around the board. "Gettyyup, Crane! Yeehaw!"

"Give me that!" He shouts, swatting my hand away.

"_Must_ you interfere, Joker?" Hatter sighs. He helps Crane set the fallen pieces I had toppled over to their original posts. I giggle at their tasteless frustration.

"You say that as if it were a bad thing, Hats!" I pat him atop his head, messy with blonde. He growls and slaps me away. "_Well_, you don't make much of a 'Hats' without the hat, do you Tetch? Hahahah!" He stops fixing the shaggy mess, swishing an arm across the board angrily, sending a queen tumbling into Jonathan's lap. Crane remains bored, as he flicks the queen onto the floor with his middle finger.

"How do you propose I enjoy a simple game of chess with this careless imbecile around?" Hatter growls to Scarecrow.

"_Quite_ the riddle indeed," Nygma joins in, gaining a seat at the small table. "And the answer is, you don't."

"It seems that way," Jervis agrees.

The prying presence of the Clown Prince has mellowed as I see the asylum air grow still once more. The aging sentence to this gaudy building that has yet seemed to find it's own freeze frame. A standstill photo in hand, as the corners wither between your fingers in seconds. It was hauntingly marvelous. The dust collects quicker than an hourglass in the hands of the timekeeper himself. I sweep my eyes around the room, losing interest.

I ditch my seat, striding over to Ivy. My visit was long overdue, although she may argue the very opposite. "How is my favorite gardener?" I ask in a friendly tone. Ivy turns to look at me, bewildered and irritated. I give her an expression of shock and lean to look past her. "Wasn't talking to _you_, Pamela. Why, there is a rumor Harvey has yet again replaced one of your beloveds in the backyard!" Ivy looks slightly lost, so I give her direction, chortling in a low sinister growl. "_But_- no one will miss those doctors. They're more replaceable than your flowers!" I look past Ivy, to Two-Face who sits across the room from Ivy. He doesn't laugh at the joke, but I do believe I see a slight lift in the corners of his mouth.

Pam scoffs. "You're insane, Joker."

"I know you are, but what am I?" I retort. Yes, it's an oldy, but hey. I giggle at the remark anyway.

The plant woman smiles. "I'd be careful on the topic of the demise of _doctors_, Joker. Seeing as how you're swimming deep with fishes as it is."

"_What_?" _What is she talking about?_ "Smoke too many of your plants again?" I go to laugh at her, but she cuts me off.

"Hatter knows what I'm talking about." She waves a few dainty, thin fingers, flagging down his attention. Jervis catches sight of the lady and grins when he realizes what she is getting at.

"Is this some sort of unspoken rule I don't know about?"

Ivy smirks, Jervis joining her. They quietly snicker among themselves. The other rogues become distant as my focus is directed to strictly Ivy and Jervis, my hot tempter growing wildly. How dare they laugh at me like that! I have had _enough_ of this! First Clayface and Wesker, now _these two_. A growl builds through my throat as I approach them, but I am quickly broken in step by a simple whistle of attention. I turn my icy glare towards the guard in the doorway who takes his steps towards me quickly before I "show my hand" to Ivy and Tetch. "_What is it_?" I snap under my breath.

Rick keeps a rigid stare as he looks me in the eye. "How am I supposed to do my job if you aren't doing yours?" His eyes quiver immensely and they dart to the floor after he takes notice in his tone towards me.

"_What!?_" My furious tone is no louder than a hushed whisper and gives no attention to the guard and I.

"Sorry, Mr. Joker," he redeems himself. His eyes check the walls before he says "uh. . . The doc is out."

"What do you mean. . The _doc is out_?" I can only assume he means my little blonde dame, but I am unsure just _how_ he is referring to her. The man nods to Ivy and Hatter.

"_Another pawn on the board_," he tries. "Ring a bell?" He finds my face and shudders a bit as I take a step closer, realizing just what he's getting at. "You can blame them two," he says, referring to Pam and Jervis.

My fingers tingle to find both necks and crunch them between my knuckles, like pinecones. Force a tube down their throats and pump my laughing gas until they choke. Watch their skin peel and decay into the floors of this asylum. I get the last laugh.

But that can wait. They've been bumped down on the list of priorities. Right now I need to focus on the first.

Harley.

**Visit a Stonegate Prisoner** (Harley's P.O.V.)

I am completely out of place and my insides are icy, but I walk with confidence. I can feel my face frame with fear. Each step becomes fainter as I lose myself to my own thoughts.

How have I managed to plummet so low to have found myself striking up a deal with not only Ivy, but _Bane_, to save myself from being exposed for falling for an insane comic? _How_? If only daddy saw me now. . .

If only I could pack up Mr. J and maybe even Red and just drive away into darkness. Simple.

"Name?" The man gets his pen ready. His tired eyes find mine as he waits impatiently. My throat catches as his one word question draws me from the depths of my cranium.

"Um, Harley. . ." My mouth is dry. The stress sucking every ounce of me and forming it into sweat. "Harley Quinn."

It's a bit different actually using the name now. But a good different. A mischievous different. A Mr. J different. I smile after saying the name. The man flashes a questionable suspicious look, but dismisses it, marking me down for a visit. "Visiting who, again?"

All distraction from the truth has now become a mere fistful of sand, as it slips right through my fingers. I try and try to snatch a bit of it in the air before it falls, leaving me alone. But I am left to look only at my hands. ". . .Bane."

...

Pebbles of sweat roll off of my palms, wiping them onto my skirt is not enough. If anything, it allows me to feel them perspirate all over again, faster each time. My voice is that of a weak begger. "I've come to make you a deal. . ."

Bane continues to glare into my eyes. His sinister stare enough to raise goosebumps all over, blanketing me whole. He says nothing but stares from the darkness. It's eerie atmosphere gives depths to the chills that are already surfaced. So I continue on. "I need a sample of your. . ." I motion my arm in a body builder position.

To my surprise, Bane chuckles, causing my hair to raise at first, but I quickly settle. He, I'm sure, can see the popping in my eyes, as I sit in the dim light. "What is a young lady like you wanting with my venom?" His thick Latino accent gives him even more character than he appears to have in the newspapers. There's something almost soothing about it, but I quickly remember who he is. A threat. The assassin type to be exact. He could easily snap me like a stick of gum _without_ the help of his liquid enhancer.

"It isn't _exactly_ for me, ya see. . . It's for Ivy. She sent me." He raises a brow, taking note in my skirt and professional attire. "Don't worry, I'm not really who you think I am. . . I'm in pretty deep too, she's savin' my skin. In return I'm. . ." I lower my voice to a whisper. "I'm helpin' her ditch the nuthouse. But we can't spring 'er unless you help us out. Whaddya say?"

He cracks his wrists and neck. "What's your part of the deal?"

"What room numba are you?"

"Why?" His demanding tone leaves me a bit in a knot, but I tease him in with the final piece.

"Can't leave ya in here all by ya lonesome." My words pierce through his mind and he tests it a bit, I can see it in his face. Finally, leaning into the light I see his smile.

"Deal." I begin to squeal with delight that I have smooth talked such a brute as himself to help me out, but he cuts me off. "Only thing is, they've unhooked me."

I stop in the dust, _well that completely ruins everything_. I suppose I was dimwitted for believing he would be. It is a prison after all. "So. . . The deal is off?"

"I didn't say that," he says with a smile. "Go see if you can get a hold of a plastic bag or a tube or something."

"A tube. . . ?" I sink into thought of any nearby object that might qualify what he's asking for. Luckily, I carry around my small pen-sized glasses kit, in the shape he's asking. I pull it out and dump the tools back into my purse. "Will this do?"

"Perfect," he says. He motions for me to hand over my glasses. Thoughtlessly, I toss them across the table, into the darkness. He pops out a lens and without warning, slides the glass into his flesh, right over a large vein. He holds the tube against the wound as it oozes into the container.

"What are you doing?!" I whisper loudly.

He chuckles once more, almost sarcastically, as if I should know. "They might've taken my tubes away. But there's still some venom left in my blood." He pulls away the tube once a good amount is contained. "Here." I take it back and look inside. The wet red will certainly work to our advantage. Ivy will be pleased. I smile and stand up to leave, but he catches an arm.

"You better keep your part of the deal. Otherwise. . ." He squeezes my arm tighter, enough to leave a welt. I wimper under his strength. "You know I will come find you and your little plant-loving Scarlett."


End file.
